Dilemma
by Chapin CSI
Summary: Gil and Greg slash. Also WS. Romance, humor and a little drama. How Greg changed Gil's life. Along the way, they share Christmas with Greg's family, and lunch with Warrick and Sara. Talk about awkward!
1. Dilemma

DILEMMA

Grissom/Greg Sanders slash

I love Grissom/Sara, but I can't help this sometimes…

A story told from Grissom's POV

* * *

It's been quite a while since I wrote the first chapters of this story, and in the meantime, my English improved a little. A few days ago I read the story and realized a little rewriting was in order. There are no major changes, but chapters one through four will be a bit longer now.

Now I realize that I'd been going through life as if I was half asleep. I'd kept a part of my life under control for such a long time, that I almost forgot that it existed. But it does exist. And now that I know, I wish someone would tell me what to do with it.

I'd lived quietly until yesterday.

It was my night off and I was watching TV. The Trick Shot Magic semi-finals were about to start, when someone knocked on my door. I didn't immediately open up; I mean, it was 2:00 in the morning –no one had ever come to my place at 2:00 in the morning. Phone calls, I got plenty; but no personal visits.

I cautiously looked through the peephole, and was taken aback to see one of my coworkers standing there. Greg Sanders.

I opened up quickly.

"Greg?"

"Hey, Grissom." he greeted quietly.

I looked around, half-expecting to find my other colleagues standing there, but the sidewalk was empty. A taxi was leaving, and since there was no sign of Greg's car, it was safe to assume that Greg had not driven to my place. I turned my attention back to Greg, who was leaning on the doorframe, as if he couldn't stand on his own.

"Greg? What are you doing here?"

"I..." he hesitated, "I think I'm lost." he said.

I frowned when I noticed that Greg's movements were slow and tentative.

"Are you ok?"

"Yeah," he said, taking a step into my house, "I just-" he hesitated, and then he suddenly lost his balance and stumbled into my arms. I staggered under his weight, and had to struggle to keep us both on our feet.

"Are you hurt, Greg?" I asked, alarmed.

"No," he whispered in my ear, "I'm just... confused."

His breath felt warm on my skin. It made me shiver. I froze. All my life I'd made it a point not to get close to people, and there I was, holding a coworker in my arms.

I quickly put an end to that. I propped him against the wall and held him in place with one hand, while I used the other to cup his jaw.

"Look at me," I said, tilting his face so I could examine his pupils. "Did you take anything, Greg?" I asked.

"Uh, huh" he nodded, rubbing his face against my palm "I did, I did, yes indeed," he said, giving off a scent that was rummy and fruity at the same time.

"You're drunk." I frowned.

"Yep. But just a little," he said, leaning against me again.

Holding Greg was making me uncomfortable, not to mention tired -he was thin but nicely muscled too. I didn't want him inside my place but I couldn't just leave him on his own either.

"Come on in," I said, closing the door behind us.

"Greg?" I asked as I led him to the living room, "If you were able to find my place, how come you couldn't find yours?"

"I..." he frowned, "I don't know." he mumbled evasively.

"Oh, Greg, you idiot..." I muttered, practically dropping him on the couch.

He winced.

"Your couch's as hard as a rock." He mumbled, trying to find a comfortable position

"You won't be sleeping on it, so don't worry." I retorted, "Wait here."

I went to the kitchen to get a glass of water.

"Are you mad at me?" he asked when I went back.

"No." I said patiently. I couldn't be mad at him. He looked pitiful, huddled in a corner of my couch, obviously in discomfort.

My furniture doesn't encourage visitors.

I offered him the water.

"Are you disappointed?" He asked quietly.

"No." I said expressionlessly.

I watched him as he drank the water. Party Greg wasn't that different from Lab Greg, except for the smells that clung to him -cigarette smoke, perfume, sweat, cologne… But Lab Greg would have never come to my place like this; such uncharacteristic behavior worried me. I tentatively put a hand on his forehead.

He seemed to come alive under my touch. He wiggled his eyebrows.

"Do I feel hot?" he asked, smiling mischievously.

I didn't answer.

I kept my hand on his forehead, but I didn't look at him. That is, I tried not to. But I kept glancing back. There was so much to see –the nose, the bushy eyebrows, the mouth; even the splash of moles on his face... Funny; I felt as if was seeing him for the first time, ever.

I forced myself to focus back on Greg's health.

"Did you take anything besides alcohol?"

"Yeah." he answered as if it was self-evident "There is a multitude of substances mixed into cocktails nowadays, Grissom." he said, in full lecture mode, "The two-ingredient drinks of your generation are a thing of the past."

My generation. Ouch.

I shook my head impatiently –just as I did whenever he failed to answer a question with a simple yes or no.

"What I mean is, did you take any drugs?"

"I don't take drugs, Grissom."

"Are you sure nobody slipped you anything?" I insisted.

"Yeah, I'm sure," he replied, "Why?"

"Well, you're obviously disoriented; I mean, you came here instead of going home-"

"I didn't want to go home." He mumbled, "I was lonely."

That was the least I expected from him.

"What about your friends?"

"Everybody left," he shrugged "We were all together at the disco and then they all hooked up and left."

"Hooked up?" I frowned.

He opened his eyes wide in disbelief.

"God, Grissom, don't you know what 'hooking up' means?"

"Yes, I know what it means," I replied morosely. "I was just wondering why _you_ didn't hook up. You don't look like a guy who would have a problem. What happened?"

"Well..." he hesitated. He looked at me for a brief moment and then at everything in the room but me.

I backed off. Evidently, this was too personal, and if he didn't want to tell me, I wouldn't insist.

He handed me the empty glass, and I took it back to the kitchen. From there I watched as he tried to find a soft spot on my couch.

"Greg? Is there any reason why you don't want to go home tonight?"

He didn't answer immediately.

"Not really," he said eventually, "It's just…" he looked at me "I thought we could talk-"

"Are you in some kind of trouble?"

He shook his head no but didn't say anything. His reticence was making it difficult for me to help. If he had told me he needed a place to stay because there was a leak in his bathroom, then maybe I would have let him use my guest room. But talking was out of my league, as he should have known.

"Greg, I'm gonna drive you home, all right?"

For a moment it looked like he was going to argue.

"All right?" I insisted, picking my car keys from the counter.

"Ok, Grissom," he accepted, resignedly.

I drove, uncomfortably aware that he was watching my every move. I wanted to stop and ask him what the hell he was looking at, but I just wanted him out of my hands, so I kept driving.

I couldn't just leave him in front of his building, though. He may not have been as drunk as I thought at first, but he wasn't completely sober either. I helped him up the stairs to his apartment and then I brewed him some coffee. It was just an excuse; I just wanted to make sure that everything was ok at his place. It was.

Greg was leaning against the wall, looking dejected.

"Sit down, Greg." I said solemnly.

He reluctantly sat and took the cup of coffee that I set in front of him.

"Greg," I said, "What you did tonight was very dangerous. I don't need to tell you that you should be more careful, do I?"

"I wasn't on call tonight, Grissom."

"Greg, I know you'd never come drunk to the lab." I said, "But if you drink and go wandering around-"

"I wasn't wandering," he interrupted, "I wanted to go to your place."

"Why?" I frowned.

"Well..." he gulped, "I just...I needed to see you."

We looked at each other, and suddenly, I understood why he had come to my place.

'Oh, no.' my brain protested, 'No, no, no, come on…' it pleaded, "I can deal with blood, and gore, and murders, but not with this!'

I pretended not to understand, but that only encouraged Greg to continue.

"I couldn't hook up tonight because all I could think of was you." He said, and then he looked up expectantly.

Well, I didn't know what he expected from me, but whatever it was, he was going to be disappointed. People had had crushes on me over the years, only to find that I had nothing to offer. I always walked away.

But walking away was not an option this time -Greg was my coworker.

I needed to be careful.

I wished –not for the first time- that I could find a book on how to handle this kind of situation. There were books on how to find romance filling entire sections at the library, but no one had ever written a book on how to avoid romance without hurting others.

There's a thought that has stuck with me ever since: Not every answer is in a book.

Greg was still talking.

"I was thinking that you were probably home alone," he said, "And then I started wondering-"

"Greg -"

"-whether we could talk." He looked down. "There are lots of things I'd like to say, but the main thing is-" he paused, "I think I'm attracted to you."

Oh, no.

"It'll pass," I blurted out.

Greg didn't look up. He merely nodded, and by the fleeting look of disappointment on his face, it was clear that he understood what my words meant -that I just wasn't interested.

"It'll pass" I repeated, more gently this time, "You'll see"

He scoffed softly.

"Well," he said, "I hope you're right, because it's hard, you know."

He took a big gulp of his coffee and grimaced, just as if he'd gulped down whiskey. He looked a little sad, and I knew I had to thread carefully. In my experience, crushes don't last long, but rejections hurt. I didn't want to hurt him.

I wished I could find something to say –something funny, preferably. I wished I could slap him on the back and say, '_Greg, if you're attracted to me, then you're not only drunk but also blind_!' Or say something realistic like, '_You're young enough to be my son_,' or something dismissive like, '_Just fall for someone else_-'

But I know that kids with crushes never listen.

"Greg," I said after a moment, "Maybe you should go to bed-"

"Yeah," he said, but he didn't move.

I tentatively touched his shoulder. "Go." I said gently.

Greg rose from his seat and took a step towards the hallway.

And then he stopped.

"Grissom." he said, "If you felt something for me, would you tell me?" he looked at me, "Or would you keep it to yourself?"

I should have said that yes, I would tell him; it would have placated him and given me a chance to end the conversation right then and there. But I couldn't give him an answer –I didn't even know what the answer was. I rarely examined my own feelings.

I tried to imagine what having feelings for Greg could be like. Greg -a guy who had a knack for exasperating the hell out of me, but who also elicited my admiration and respect. I tried to imagine-

Unfortunately, my imagination tends to be quite vivid sometimes, and all of a sudden, I _knew_ what it would be like. I closed my eyes for a brief, sweet moment... and when I opened them, I realized he'd been watching me.

He was smiling faintly, as if he knew what was in my mind.

He took a couple of steps closer and put a hand on my chest to steady himself. I froze again. A part of me wanted to get out of there, but a stronger part wanted me to stay and experience whatever it was that Greg wanted to do.

Curiosity won.

Greg hugged me. I couldn't hug him back –I couldn't move, actually- but I reveled in the feel of his arms around me.

"This feels good, doesn't it?" he muttered in my ear. He pulled back to look at me. There was an expression of quiet confidence on his face now; he most have known I was not going to reject him, not even as he leant closer.

I kept my eyes open while he pressed his mouth against mine. He kissed me, gently and thoroughly, letting me taste the exotic crap he had drunk. He explored my mouth until we were both breathless, and then he pulled back to look at me.

He seemed to be pleased by what he had done. Pleased and smug.

"That was nice," I said, recovering my voice. I tried to sound as if being kissed by a coworker was something that happened to me every day; no big deal, at all.

I don't believe I fooled him.

He kept his gaze on me, and little by little he grew serious. Serious and thoughtful. And then, just when I thought he was going to kiss me again, he released me.

"Grissom," he said huskily "I think I'm going to be sick." he smiled sheepishly. "I'd rather you didn't see me like that, all right?"

He was dismissing me. I didn't expect _that_. It was like waking up from some dream.

"Are you going to be all right?" I asked, since I was honestly concerned about him.

"I'll be fine." He nodded quietly, "I just need to sleep it off."

I took a couple of steps towards the door, but I didn't hurry. I would never admit this to him –I can barely admit it to myself- but at that moment, I was hoping he'd change his mind.

"Hey," he called out just as I was reaching the door. "We'll do this again." He said firmly "It'll be better when I'm sober." Then he turned and walked into the darkened hallway.

In a daze, I drove back home.

* * *

TBC


	2. Greg's plan

DILEMMA

Part two: Greg's plan

I did a little rewriting on December'05, but didn't make any major changes.

It's slash and it's R due to language…

* * *

_How did he know?_

I ignored the question and focused on the TV screen: Mike Massey was about to perform his famed 'boot shot'. I'd come back to my place just in time to watch the Trick Shot Magic finals, but my attention kept wandering. Inevitably, I kept thinking of Greg and the things that I'd let happen.

_How did he know?_

_How did he know that I...? That I was...? _

I couldn't even say the word.

_Gay._ There.

It's not that being labeled as gay or straight worried me -frankly, I've rarely cared about people's opinion of me. But I'd invested years in creating a life that I liked, and I didn't want anything to interfere with it, not even feelings –especially, feelings. Mine was a quiet life, ordered and simple, and I wanted it to remain that way. I had my life figured out...

Until Greg came home and ruined everything.

Nothing serious had happened, fortunately, but I still couldn't believe how disastrously I'd behaved. The truth was that if Greg had asked me to join him, I would have followed him into the darkened hallway. What did that say about me? Was I really this desperate, this weak?

_And how the hell did Greg know?_

Questions, questions...

But after a while, denial started to creep in and I began to see things under a new light: Greg had been drunk, in the first place; his memory of the night's events might be a little hazy. And even if he remembered, he would not dare mention it, would he?

He'd made a pass at the boss after all. He'd probably be too embarrassed to talk about it, or afraid that I might be angry.

That last thought made me smile. Maybe that's what I should do -act as if I were angry with him, just to torture him a little... But no, I couldn't do that. The kid was bound to feel bad enough, even without my help.

So, in the end I decided that denial was the best recourse: I'd just pretend that nothing had happened. It would make things easier for both of us.

The thought comforted me, and I was able to focus on the pool competition again.

I put Greg out of my thoughts until I went to brush my teeth.

I'd casually glanced at myself in the mirror and then I'd picked up my toothbrush and the toothpaste. I stared at both objects and then I put them down. I looked up again and looked at me again.

I tilted my head and examined my face from several angles, but try as I might, I just couldn't understand what Greg had seen in me.

People had found me attractive before, but very few had ever crossed the invisible shield I kept around me. And Greg had done more than crossing a line. That kiss...

I smiled faintly. I never thought I'd get kissed by someone like Greg. I could pretend all I wanted at the lab, but the fact was, it happened and I'd liked it. At least, I could admit it to myself.

It was just another experience, another memory that I'd stash in a corner of my mind, along with other personal stuff that I rarely reviewed.

I picked up the toothbrush again, but after a moment's hesitation I put it back in the holder. I decided not to wash up. It sounds stupid, but I didn't want to erase the evidence left by his kiss. There was nothing visible to the eye, but I knew there was something there -a little alcohol, a multitude of flavors from the cocktails he'd drunk...

My mouth tasted awful –just as if I'd eaten something rotten- but I didn't care. I just wanted to hold on to proof that I'd been kissed. Was I being sentimental? Perhaps. But I was entitled. It HAD been a nice kiss after all, and very few nice things happened in my life.

The next shift started with a bombshell: Catherine's new boyfriend had been arrested for possession, and Ecklie's team was handling the investigation. Ecklie was investigating the man's recent visitors, including Catherine.

I patiently listened to her angry outburst, welcoming it as a distraction to my own problems.

"Are you even listening?" she exclaimed, "You have the look of someone who's miles from here!"

"I'm listening, Catherine." I nodded. "Go on. Tell me again how unfair this is"

She rolled her eyes.

"You're not taking this seriously."

"Catherine, look at it this way." I said patiently, "Are you really surprised that he's being charged?"

I'd always thought the guy was a bit sleazy, but it was obvious that Catherine didn't see it that way. She opened her mouth for what seemed like an angry retort, but my phone rang just in time.

It was Brass, calling about a double murder at a retirement home. I was glad to have a chance to leave my office until I realized that since it was Warrick's night off, Greg would be joining Nick and me.

They were already at the crime scene when I got there. Greg and me barely exchanged glances while Brass filled us in: Two men had been shot in their sleep, apparently by someone who lived in the premises.

"Isn't this depressing?" commented Nick, "Even Grandpas are killing each other"

"Passion doesn't diminish with age" Replied Brass ironically "It's disturbing and encouraging at the same time"

"Our killer could be one of the caretakers" I commented.

We spent the next couple of hours processing the evidence in the bedroom.

I kept glancing at Greg; he was brushing one of the victim's hair and collecting the residue in a square of paper. He was a bit pale, and I doubted it was due to a hangover. Too late, I'd remembered that he'd always been close to his grandfather, so examining the body of an old man might be more than he could handle.

"Greg?" I said, handing him a couple of bags, "Could you take these samples back to the lab?"

"I haven't finished this" he said, and then he looked up. "I'm ok, Grissom," he said good-naturedly, as if he understood my concern.

Well, well. Greg was stronger than I thought. It was yet another thing to like about him.

Towards dawn we met at the conference room to discuss this and other pending cases. The night had been hard on all of us. It wasn't just the cases and the absence of Warrick that had made it difficult. Hodges had made a blunder in one of Sara's cases and the DA was going to dismiss it; Jacqui was on vacation and her substitute was giving us excuses, not results, and Catherine could not come back to work until Ecklie cleared her.

After a couple of hours Nick sighed.

"Why don't we get some breakfast? I can't think straight when I'm starving. What about you, Grissom?"

I frowned. For a brief moment I thought Nick was asking if I could literally _think_ _straight, _and I involuntarily glanced at Greg. He didn't look up.

"I'm not hungry." I said at last.

"Well, I need some coffee at least." Sara said, "Couldn't we go down the deli and take a bite? We could come back in an hour-" She glanced at me.

"Fine," I said, "Go."

"You coming, Greggo?" asked Nick.

"Uh, not today, Nick," he said, "I need to talk to Grissom," He added, and then he looked expectantly at me.

_Oh, no. _

Nick must have thought there was some kind of trouble between us, because he glanced curiously at me and then at Greg.

I was trying to come up with some excuse, when Greg added, "I thought we could go over the Tagging and Labeling of Evidence list, Grissom. I don't know if I have it down."

I couldn't say 'no' to that, of course.

"Sure, Greg," I said.

Greg waited until our coworkers left the room. Meanwhile, we glanced at each other from opposite ends of the table.

All I could think of was that twenty-four hours ago I had let this kid kiss the hell out of me. What was he going to say now? But when he opened his mouth, he said something completely unexpected.

"The purpose of tagging and labeling items from a crime scene is to help us identify those items later." He recited quite seriously "It adds credibility when we're at court. All evidence collected at the crime scene should be tagged, but if some item cannot be tagged, it should be labeled or marked." He looked at me expectantly.

I was relieved; apparently, Greg wanted to pretend nothing had happened, too.

"Very well, Greg." I nodded, "What information should go on the label?"

"Description of item," he started, using his fingers to help himself, "Police case number or identifier, date, location of collection, collectors name and identifier, brand name-"

I smiled encouragingly. It pleased me to see that he was willing to learn.

"All right, Greg. Now tell me about the importance of the Chain of Custody"

"It helps us establish who had contact with the evidence, the date and time the evidence was handled, how it was handled, and whatever change has been made in it."

"All right." I said, "Wait here. I'll go get some labels." I went to my office and got labels and several unrelated items that he could use to practice.

When I returned to the conference room, Greg was looking at his watch and counting backwards.

"…And five, four, three, two, one." He looked up and smiled "We're officially off shift now, so it's safe to talk."

And here I thought I was safe. The damn kid had tricked me!

I dreaded what was coming, but I didn't let it show. I sat and used my best poker face.

Greg took a seat next to mine. He picked up a label and then put it back. It looked like he had lost a little of his self-confidence.

"Hum. Grissom," he started, "About last night, I'd… like to apologize. I mean, you were probably trying to get some sleep and I just barged into your place-" he looked up, "Or were you reading?"

"I was watching television."

"Oh," he paused, "Great. I mean," he said, "At least I didn't wake you up. I was worried about that. You usually get so little sleep and there I was, interrupting you." He paused, "That wasn't very cool of me, right? But, hum, anyway-"

"Greg," I interrupted, "You don't have to apologize, ok?"

"I don't?" he frowned.

I shook my head.

"I only hope you don't do this often." I said, "Get drunk, I mean." I amended quickly.

"Oh, no," he smiled, "I don't do that, Grissom, really. I usually have a couple of drinks and leave it at that. I go out mostly for the dancing." He looked at me curiously, "Hey, do you dance?"

I scoffed.

"You jest."

"Well, it's just that if you did, then things would be easier."

"What things?"

"The things that I wanted to talk to you about." He said matter-of-factly. "Maybe I should begin by telling you that if I hadn't been drunk, I wouldn't have kissed you-"

Ouch.

"All right." I said expressionlessly.

"I mean, I wanted to." He added, "I really did. But not yet. My plan was to be your friend first. I thought I'd start by taking you out to a movie, or to a conference-" he paused, "Dancing did seem out of the question, but you never know, right?" He smiled.

I didn't smile back.

He cleared his throat again.

"Anyway," he continued, "My plan was for you to get so used to me that when I told you what I wanted, you wouldn't freak out." He smiled faintly. "But something happened last night. I was surrounded by friends, but all I could think of was you and how I'd rather be talking to you. I kept thinking that you were probably alone, and…" he looked up, "I've always wondered if you might need me, you know? If you might need a friend-"

"Greg, you are a friend-"

"Yeah? Well, I'm glad you think so, but it's more than that.… I mean, I've always wondered about you and me, and how we sometimes flirt- We do flirt, Grissom," he smiled, "Don't look at me as if I'm out of my mind!"

"Anyway," he added, "Last night I was such a bore that my friends finally left. I had a drink to distract myself but it made things worse. I started feeling sorry for myself; I had another drink, and then another, and… and I ruined things, right?" he looked expectantly at me.

As always, he had overtalked to cover up for his nervousness.

I felt sorry for him.

"Greg, I think you're very confused." I said cautiously, "I really don't want to talk about this… plan of yours," I said calmly "But I can tell you one thing: There's nothing wrong with a kiss."

He gaped.

"You really think so?" he asked after a moment. "Wow" he gasped, "Here I was about to give you a speech on how a relationship would do you good, and it turns out that you've already agreed!"

"I have not!" I said quickly, "All I meant is that you don't have to apologize for this! You were drunk and you didn't know what you were doing -I understand that."

He looked at me thoughtfully.

"Grissom, I'm not going to blame my behavior on a couple of drinks. I mean, sometimes people get drunk and then they claim they didn't know what they were doing, but I do. I remember everything I said and everything I did. I remember everything you did, too."

"I didn't do anything." I frowned.

"No, but I felt you." He said, and then he lowered his voice. "When I got you in my arms, there was a reaction, down there." He said, glancing down at me.

What could I say to that?

"Jeeze, Grissom," he scoffed, "You're blushing."

"I'm not-"

"You're not a prude, are you?" he frowned, "I mean, it's ok if you are, but-"

"I'm not a prude," I replied.

"I'll simply take it slowly, and-"

"Greg," I interrupted, "Listen," I said, and then I spoke solemnly, "We need to forget what happened, all right?"

"Why?"

"Because I say so." I replied curtly. I'd tried to be kind to him, but I could see it was a mistake, "We're coworkers, Greg." I said in a slightly patronizing tone, "I'm your boss. This would be inappropriate at best. At worst, it could affect our work. And…" I paused, "I'm much older than you, too."

He didn't seem much concerned by my little speech.

Actually, he was grinning.

"You didn't say the magic words," he said.

"What magic words?"

"'_I don't like you, Greg'_ ." He replied, looking very pleased with himself. "I mean, you weren't exactly grossed out by me, Grissom." He said knowingly, "On the contrary." He paused. "I'm not surprised, you know? There's something about you that made me believe you'd be open to the possibilities... You know what Freud said, right? That the only unnatural sex would be-"

"To have none at all,'" I finished. "That's very convincing on paper, but not in real life, Greg. And I think you're just confusing hero-worship with attraction."

"I don't think so." He frowned, "I admire you, sure, but I'm not blind to your flaws. You have plenty, you know. It's actually part of your charm."

I looked down at the tags and papers on the table.

"Greg... I don't know what you see in me, but-"

"What I see is a man who'd look better if he let his hair curl or if he lost a few pounds…" He said with more honesty than I expected. Then he added, "Someone who would feel better if he let someone into his life-"

I didn't look up.

"I can be discreet," he said more confidently, "In case you're worried. I mean," he added, "How long do you think I've felt like this? It's been more than two years and you never knew."

I cleared my throat.

"Greg…" I started, "I haven't done this in a long time-"

"Oh, that's ok." He interrupted, "I can be patient."

"That's not what I meant," I said patiently, "What I'm trying to say is that I haven't done this because I don't want to. I live quietly and I like it that way. I'm not going to change my life just because you're curious."

"I don't want you to change your life." He replied "I want to complement it"

That sounded nice. He seemed to have all the right answers, and it was starting to bother me. I was also starting to wonder whether I should take advantage of this chance… a once-in-a-lifetime chance…

_Waaaait a minute. _I immediately stopped that line of thought.

"Greg, there's something you've got to understand about me." I said deliberately, "I'd never risk my job for a quick fuck."

He reacted as if I had punched him, but he recovered quickly.

"Oh, Grissom, Grissom," he said, shaking his head, "It would never be quick with me; it would be slow and good." He wiggled an eyebrow, "Ever heard of Tantric sex?"

I snorted. I couldn't help but admire Greg's cockiness. My reaction seemed to please him; he had disarmed me and he knew it very well.

"Are you gonna me a chance?" he asked.

"Greg…" I paused, trying to find the right words, "I can only think of reasons not to do this…"

"And I can only think of reasons to do it" he replied.

We looked at each other.

"Come on," he said quietly, "Give me a chance. Let's..." he hesitated, "Let's do something together. Let's go out -"

"No." I said firmly

"…for lunch." He finished. "Anywhere you want" he added.

Lunch sounded safe enough.

"Or we could go to the new Barnes & Noble," he added.

"Well…" That was safe too.

"What about a baseball game on Sunday?"

I hesitated. That sounded good, actually. Damn it, he seemed to know me very well.

"I guess we could go." I mumbled, "To lunch," I added. We could only spare about forty-five minutes.

"What about a visit to a Museum?" he said.

"All right."

"Sleep with me?" he ventured carelessly, but I held back my answer this time. "Is that a 'no'?" he smirked.

"Greg…" I gave him a warning look, and he laughed.

"All right, Grissom. Lunch it is. And I'll have baseball tickets for next Sunday."

"It's sold out" I said, happy to thwart his plans.

"What if I can get the tickets?" he challenged, "Will you come with me?"

'_Hell, no' _a part of my brain reacted at last.

'_Oh, come on_,' countered the other part, "_How dangerous can a game be_? '

"Ok," I said.

Greg smiled.

"Great," he said, "I'm gonna make a couple of calls and-"

"Later," I said, all business again, "Now, let's go over the importance of the chain of custody again."

* * *

TBC

Note: Catherine's unnamed boyfriend here is the club owner that Nicholas Lea played in a couple of episodes. _I _wasn't surprised when she caught him cheating.

The procedures mentioned by Greg were taken from Proper Tagging and Labeling of Evidence for Later Identification by Mike Byrd


	3. Four dates

DILEMMA

Part Three

Grissom/Greg Slash

Notes: When I wrote this, Hodges had appeared in only one or two episodes, and he acted like a jerk (in my opinion). It turned out he's not so bad.

Revised on December '05 and January'06.

* * *

DILEMMA: The dates.

LUNCH

I gave up trying to come up with an excuse not to have lunch with him, and chose a small Italian place close to the lab.

There were several thoughts and questions plaguing my mind as I turned off my computer: Did we really flirt? Was he really in love with me or just curious? Was I going to play with fire with this guy and then regret everything?

I tried to answer each question:

1. We did not flirt –of course, not.

Just to be sure, I thought of some of the conversations we'd had recently, and pictured one in my mind: Last week, for instance, I was doing some paper work when he entered my office in a whirl of activity.

"Hey boss, I have your DNA results. And some more paperwork for you to sign." He handed me some papers and then he leant on my desk, "I have something else for you." He said, somewhat mysteriously.

"Really?" I asked, looking up and down at him.

"Oh, it's not in my pocket," he said casually, "But I _am_ happy to see you." We smiled at each other, and he added, "Guess who bought a pound of Kopi Luuwak?"

I smiled more widely.

"The expensive coffee…?" I asked in anticipation.

"The _rich, chocolaty_, coffee," he amended, "There's a cup waiting for you. Care to join me?"

And I eagerly followed him to the break room…

Oh, my God, we DO flirt.

2. The answer to the second question was, 'I don't want to think about it'.

3. As for the third question… The only answer I could come up with as a resounding 'no,' but I didn't know how to say it without complicating things between Greg and me. I didn't want to hurt him.

Slowly, a plan began to take shape in my mind, and I was surprised at how simple it was -and how effective it could turn out to be: I did not have to say 'no' to Greg; all I had to do was be myself. Yeah, have lunch and be myself... that would surely ruin things. It had ruined the few dates that I'd organized in the past, anyway. I smiled to myself, by the end of the meal, he'd either be bored or angry, and anxious for things to go back to normal…

It was a great plan. And just to emphasize the kind of jerk I can be, I took to read while I ate. No way was I going to be drawn into a conversation.

Greg was already there when I entered the restaurant. Contrary to what I'd expected, he barely looked at me; he was completely engrossed by his own book, a slender volume that he kept open until the waitress brought the menus.

I was checking up the salads when I remembered his comment about my weight. Just to show him that his opinions mattered little to me, I decided to order pasta.

'Ha', I thought; 'take that Greg!'

Greg was studying the menu and happily mumbling something about sausage and double cheese pizzas.

"You should eat more fruits and vegetables" I said without thinking.

"I don't need fiber," he replied, "My pipes are in top working condition."

"When you get to be my age, you'll wish you had eaten more fiber."

"Don't nag, Grissom," he said evenly, "We're not a couple yet."

That shut me up.

When the waitress came, I ordered pasta... and he ordered a veggie pizza. Greg smiled and looked expectantly at me, but I ignored him and focused my attention on my book again.

Ah, _Anthomyiidae_! Nice picture. I started to read:

'_The larvae of phytophagous (plant-eating) species may bore into the roots, stems, leaves, flowers or seeds…' _

I was reading, but I couldn't help thinking that Greg had ordered the veggie pizza just to please me…

'No, no, no, no,' I thought, 'Go back to your book'

'_Other anthomyiid larvae are found in decaying vegetation, manure, and burrows or nests of animals and arthropods. Adult seedcorn maggots frequently are infected by an entomophthoran fungus…' _

Maybe I should I have ordered mushroom soup instead of pasta...

'Enough!' I thought again.

I was reading the same paragraph for the fifth time when Greg noisily closed his book and turned his attention to me. He didn't speak until I looked up.

"Have you ever felt alone in a crowd, Grissom?" He asked.

"Sometimes." I admitted slowly, "You?"

"I've always felt like that. I'm the youngest of four children." He explained.

"Really? " For an only child, that's difficult to grasp. "Are they all scientists, like you?"

"One of my sisters is a surgeon," he said, "But they're more interested on sports than sciences. I guess I'm the black sheep of the family." He smiled.

"But you are your Grandfather's favorite."

"Oh, yeah." he nodded.

'Maybe that explains all this,' I thought. 'Maybe he likes me because I remind him of his Grandfather?'

That was a little sick, but it was the only theory I had, so I told him.

He was appalled.

"Jeeze, Grissom," he said, and then he lowered his voice, "What do you think this is, incest by proxy? How can you think-? You're not eighty-three years old, are you?" He frowned, "How old are you, anyway?"

But before I could answer, he continued.

"You're nothing like Papa Olaf," he said, "If that's any comfort to you." He opened up his book again, but after a moment he looked up. "I was trying to explain something to you, something real, not something taken out of whatever book on Psychology bullshit you're reading-" he eyed my book, "What are you reading, anyway?"

I picked up the book and held it so he could read the title.

"PLANT DISEASES IN NORTH CAROLINA." He said, "Bugs. It figures," he scoffed, turning back to his book. A book on chemistry, may I add, so who was he to talk?

The waitress brought the food, and her presence kept me from apologizing. But when she left, I didn't say anything. It was my plan, after all, wasn't it? Show him my worst side and make him angry with me.

I forgot that Greg never holds a grudge for long.

He had eaten half of his pizza when he spoke again.

"When was the last time you fell in love, Grissom?"

I pretended to be completely engrossed on my food but he patiently waited –and stared- until I looked up. I didn't answer.

"All right," he said, "You don't have to answer if you don't want to," he accepted, "But I think it's kind of ironic that you worry so much about your age, when you don't realize how emotionally immature you are."

"Excuse me?" I frowned.

"Yeah," he said matter-of-factly "I think that emotionally you're what, 15? 25? 30? Your heart's been frozen since the last time you loved someone. And by that I mean being 'in love'."

I wanted to argue that I wasn't immature at all, but his first question was still bothering me: I didn't really remember ever being in love.

"Listen," He said, and he lowered his voice, "I was telling you about feeling lonely, so you could understand why I went to your place. It's kind of personal-" He explained, "When I'm in bed with someone and I'm, you know, trying to have a good time -and trying to give them a good time-" he paused, "It's… it's as if I weren't there. In my mind, I keep going back to you and whatever we talked about that day."

"At first, I thought it was just a crush." He added after a moment, "Then I realized that it was something else, and that I couldn't do anything about it." He took a deep breath, "And then one day I wondered if you had ever felt like that –I mean, whether you ever loved someone and didn't do anything about it. You know, when you were younger. Or whether someone broke your heart-"

It fascinates me, the way people try to read me, despite all my efforts to be inconspicuous. Nobody had ever spoken to me like this, though. It hurt.

Greg took his plastic fork and twirled it between his fingers, "I see how lonely you are, Grissom." He said, "And I don't want that to happen to me."

"Good for you." I mumbled, forcing myself to say something. "And by the way? Whatever book on Psychology you got that from, it's just bullshit." I added.

Greg looked up.

"You're angry, aren't you?"

"I'm not." I said lightly, "People analyze me all the time"

"Oh, shit, Grissom, I hurt you, didn't I?" he cringed, "I'm sorry, man, really! I'm doing this so we're not lonely anymore-"

"Hey, you talk as if there was something missing from my life, but it's not like that. I like my life; I like being a criminalist. Do I think others should live like me? No." I said honestly. "But it's OK for me."

"You do realize that you're reducing your life to what you do at the lab, as if it started and ended there?"

"Greg, I do have other interests outside my job, I just don't talk about them."

Greg flushed.

"You have someone? Why didn't you just tell me?"

"Not someone, Greg, just… interests. Hobbies, if you like"

"You mean you have bugs to keep you busy." He scoffed. He smiled faintly, "_I _could keep you 'busy,' too," he said casually.

I felt a surprising stab of excitement at the thought of being 'busy' with him. I could even picture it: Gil Grissom, as this handsome young man's plaything…

I scoffed.

"What?" he asked, eyeing me curiosly.

"Nothing." I said "I'm just laughing at myself."

I stared at him. Ah, Greg; optimistic, infuriating, lovable. So young and wise. Too young. Ah, damn.

"You're wasting your time, Greg." I said gently, "I'm settled. I won't ever change. But-" I added before he could argue, "Being friends is OK." I said, "Eating lunch together is OK. Talking is fine too. Just… Just don't go to my place again." I looked at him, "Please."

He didn't reply; he simply glanced at his watch.

"It's 2:15." He said "I think you have to be in Court at 3:00."

I blinked. I had forgotten all about Court.

"Yeah. Got to…" I glanced at him. "Thanks for the food." I said, and then I left.

A baseball game

On Wednesday, I filed a Request to transfer Hodges to another shift. If Ecklie wanted him, he was welcome to have the lazy bastard. He had caused enough troubles.

On Thursday night, the sheriff came to talk and to deliver grim news. I couldn't get rid of Hodges, no matter how many blunders he committed: He was suing the Department, claiming that I had favorites in my staff.

"Favorites? What is this, Kindergarten?" I asked incredulously

"He's claiming that you have given some members of the staff undue preference when assigning cases."

"If he means I don't give him difficult cases, he's right; he's ruined enough cases for us. And now he's trying to confuse matters here."

"I know, Gil. I only want you to be careful while this matter is settled."

"I only want him removed from my Lab, Sheriff." I hated to plead but I couldn't work with that SOB anymore. He had caused us enough troubles.

The Sheriff left and then I had to deal with Catherine's suspension over her boyfriend's possession charge. She wasn't a suspect, but as long as her presence at the man's home wasn't cleared, she couldn't work. We'd have to work without her for a few days at best, a week at worst.

At the end of the shift, Nick and me went to the break room. We found Greg there; he seemed so entranced by the book he was reading that he didn't notice our arrival.

Nick hovered over his shoulder.

"Hey, Grissom, check this out!" Nick said, snatching Greg's book away, "Greg's reading Baseball for Dummies"

Greg reddened.

"Someone's thinking of changing careers, boss!" Nick smirked

"Are you, Greg?" I asked, pretending to take Nick's words seriously.

Greg grabbed his book back.

"I'm learning the game," he calmly explained, pausing for effect, "I've just got two tickets for next Sunday."

Now it was my turn to redden. Fortunately, Nick's attention was on his friend.

"Really? You do?" Nick was impressed, "Wow, man, they must have cost you the earth! Who are you going with?"

"Hum, well," Greg paused and glanced at me "I was thinking-"

"Take Nick," I interrupted quickly, "He can teach you all there is to know about the game, right, Nick?"

"Sure! I'm available, Greggo!"

"Well, Nick…" he paused again, "I was going to give a ticket to Grissom. You know how he never does anything for fun."

"Oh, hey, absolutely!" Nick said nobly, "You take it, Gris"

"I have to work," I mumbled but Nick was his usual saintly self.

"Not in the morning." Nick said, "You go, Grissom! That's an order," he added humorously. He drank his coffee, rinsed his cup and left, whistling a happy tune. As he walked away I could almost imagine him starring in a Disney movie, complete with furry little creatures and sugary songs.

Behind me I heard a chuckle and I turned. Greg lifted his arms and stretched, letting me take a brief peek at his abs and biceps.

He was smiling, supremely pleased with himself.

"We're going to the game, my friend." He said, "And in the open, too"

"You should take Nick, Greg; I hate having to explain the game"

"I guessed as much," he nodded, "That's why I got this book."

I sipped my coffee.

"Still… You should take him. I've seen you flirt with him; aren't you interested?"

"I won't ask if you're jealous, Grissom, that's self evident." He smiled, "But no, I'm not interested. Nick's all right if you like vanilla-"

"Vanilla?" I frowned, "You're seeing people as flavors now?"

"Yeah. Why not? It's perfect! Some people are spicy, some others are bland…Do you want to know what you are?"

I shook my head no. I put my cup in the sink and was almost out in the hallway when I caught his words.

"Belgian chocolate truffle…"

So, on Sunday we went to the game armed with caps, sunscreen, and his stupid book.

"You can't learn a game from a book." I argued, while I paid for drinks. "Just watch it unfold and I'll explain it to you."

"I thought you didn't like to do that? And besides, I know the game, Grissom; I just want to know more. You know, so I can dazzle you with my knowledge. For instance, did you know that-"

I rolled my eyes and handed him a soda and let him talk.

But in the end he closed his book and just enjoyed the game. And the food: We were in Sander's junk food heaven.

By the end of the day we were hoarse from screaming and groaning at the amount of hot dogs we had eaten, but we were content. And I was beginning to admit that being friends was a good idea, after all.

A thought kept nagging me, though.

"You didn't tell me how you got these tickets," I said as we walked out of the stadium.

"No, I didn't" he admitted. He glanced around, "Give me a minute, will you?"

He walked towards a colorful stand and I followed him closely.

"…Did your brother get them for you?" I insisted

"He doesn't live in Vegas" he said, picking up a blue cap.

"How much did you pay for them?"

"What's it to you?" he said evasively.

"How did you get the tickets?" I asked again, and he smiled.

"A friend got them for me."

'What friend' I wanted to ask but didn't. He bought the blue cap and we went to the parking lot in silence.

I dropped him in front of his building and ordered him to go straight to bed because he would be on call that night. He looked at me and nodded but didn't move. I braced myself, afraid that he'd start talking about relationships again.

He didn't. What he did was to take off my old cap and replace it with the one he'd bought at the stand.

"There" he said, and he was so close that I could smell him: Clean sweat, grape soda, mustard, and sunscreen. We looked at each other for a moment. "Now you'll always remember today." he said, "See ya later, Grissom."

I remained on that spot, unable to drive away.

Shit. I hadn't expected that.

I rarely receive gifts; I've always paid for everything I've got, and now Greg was giving me things that I'd never be able to pay back. Not the way he wanted, anyway.

For a split second I wished that I could love him, if only to pay my debts… I wished that I could run after him and tell him that we could try-

Me, running and calling after him…? Yeah, ha, ha, what a sight, right?

I wisely drove home instead.

Date at a Bookstore

I was picking some "Far Side" books (I like Gary Larson's drawings of insects) while Greg checked out some vintage comic books.

Despite my initial reluctance to go out with him, we had a routine now. We ate breakfast with our coworkers and now and then we spent a morning or an afternoon together. I liked that. We instinctively knew when the other wasn't in the mood to talk, so it was a relaxing time.

Despite the good times we had, I still resisted the idea of a relationship. After all, what did we really have in common? Not much. I didn't want to fall in love with this guy only to hear him say later that it had been nice but he was bored. And he would be bored, all right. I knew myself just enough to admit that I'm not that exciting to be with. Riding a roller coaster or going to a bookstore were my favorite activities, while he liked to go dancing…

I was thinking of this and depressing myself, when he suddenly kissed me on the cheek. I looked around; he was retreating already.

"Now, that wasn't too bad, was it?" he said smugly, "The world didn't fall apart just because I kissed you, see?"

"Of course not." I said patiently, "A little kiss is perfectly innocent. That cashier over there will simply think that you're my loving son"

"Oh, come on!" he rolled his eyes. "He'd never believe I'm your son!"

I decided to teach him a lesson. I took my books and went to talk to the cashier.

"Excuse me," I asked loudly, "My son here is looking for the Tyra Banks calendar; can you tell him where it is?"

"Your son?" he asked, and he reddened. He lowered his voice, "Sir, your 'son' has been checking out your butt since you both came in."

I opened my mouth but instead of trying to explain the unexplainable, I simply paid for my books and left, inwardly swearing not to return to that store. I walked away fast, listening to Greg's chuckles. I resisted, but by the time we were in his car, I was laughing too.

"See? I told you!" he said happily, and to my surprise, he hugged me, "It's fun to be with you, Grissom!"

"The poor guy will think we're perverts" I said, uncomfortably. He chuckled and hugged me closer.

"Hey, Grissom…" he whispered in my ear. "Now that we're so close… what would you like to do?"

I hesitated only a moment before sliding my arms around him. I had to admit he felt pretty good. I even liked that his spiky hair tickled my face.

"See?" he said smugly, "I know now that it's only a matter of time…" then he added in a mournful tone, "I only hope that when you say yes, I'm still young enough to enjoy it."

That sounded like a reproach, so I pulled back a little.

"Greg, I like you a lot and I like being with you. If I were twenty years younger, I-"

"But you're not, so get over it." He said brusquely.

"Get over twenty years? I can't do that."

"Then we're just wasting our time here." he said, releasing me.

Uh, I didn't expect that. I wanted to pull him back in my arms, but he wasn't even looking at me anymore; he was angrily searching his car keys.

"You know what?" he said, hands deep in his pockets, "The problem here isn't the age difference; it's just that you don't want to love anyone. You'd rather drive people away! Sara tried to love you and gave up. I've tried and-"

"You're giving up?" I asked before I could stop myself. It had sounded as if I was pleading.

He didn't answer.

A Date at Greg's place

We didn't speak much the following days. But one day I got two tickets for an exhibition, ('it's from the Smithsonian!' I said enticingly), some days later he taped a couple of shows I wanted to watch, and by the end of the week we were spending time together again.

There was no mention of those 'plans' of his; it was as if he'd decided to settle for friendship. That was fine with me –or it was, at the beginning. By the third time I went to his place to watch TV, however, it dawned on me that I was becoming more and more dependent on him. I told myself that it was 'friendship' that kept drawing me back, but deep down I had my doubts.

I was threading on dangerous ground and I knew it.

One morning we were at his place, watching a tape of mine, "Enter the Mantis," about one of my favorite insects.

Greg was entranced.

"Did kung fu masters really assimilate the movements of the mantis?"

"Uh, huh," I mumbled, "See that poor beetle? It's no match for the mantis."

He watched.

"I'm going to learn all those moves." He said thoughtfully. "They could come up handy."

"What for? Life's peaceful at the lab. And your hair looks lethal enough. Have you ever poked someone's eye out with it?"

He chuckled. He was silent for a while and then asked, "Are you staying for lunch, Grissom?"

I was comfortably settled in his couch, with my feet up on the coffee table. I really didn't want to move. And I liked the sandwiches he fixed. I nodded, and he was pleased.

Towards noon, someone knocked on his door and he jumped up.

"They're here." He announced.

"Who?" I frowned.

"Friends. They're bringing lunch."

Damn!

He had been hinting that his friends wanted to meet me, but I had always come up with some credible excuse to avoid them. Until today.

He patted my shoulder.

"It's ok, Grissom, they're cool."

That was hardly reassuring; were they 'cool but too young to have anything in common with me?' or 'cool and really, truly obnoxious'?'

They were OK. There were four women and three men, each of them older than Greg, plus Karen, a 12-year-old girl who needed some help with her homework. Greg was only too happy to help and soon they were in a corner talking about chemistry.

His friends explained that once a month they played hooky and came to Greg's for lunch or for breakfast. There were teachers, a doctor and a psychologist in their group and it was clear to me that what they had in common was their love for Greg.

I couldn't help wondering what kind of love that was. Brotherly love? Friendly love? Or the love that dares not speak its name?

I looked down in confusion. I didn't want to know what they felt for Greg –I didn't want to know what I felt for him. Fortunately, their friends had plenty to talk about and I followed their conversations, eager for a chance to distract myself.

It was clear that Greg had told them about me. They kept saying things like, "Ah, you are 'the' Gil Grissom" or, "Oh, he's always talking about you." I like them; they were polite, they seemed more interested about my work with insects than about the gory side of my job as a CSI, _and_ they had brought lasagna and Italian bread for lunch.

How could I not like them?

From the opposite end of the room, Greg watched while I talked to his friends. I glanced at him and saw an expression on his face that I'd seen once, on somebody else. He looked like the proud father of a shy kid who suddenly becomes the center of attention and blossoms. I could tell he was glad that I was getting along with his friends.

I was musing on this, when Dennis Bart, the Psychologist, took a seat beside me. Funny; I had no problem talking to Greg's friends, but that changed as soon as that guy came along. It was his profession that put me on my guard; I had some bad experiences with psychologists in my distant past and I just couldn't forget.

We made small talk until…

"By the way," he said casually, "Did you enjoy the game? _I_ got him the tickets."

There was something about the way he said it that made me uneasy.

"It was great." I said formally, "Thanks."

"Anything for him." he added a little wistfully, and then he looked straight at Greg, who was deep in conversation with Karen.

I glanced at Greg and then at Dennis.

Greg had been evasive about the person who'd given him the tickets, and now I thought I knew why.

"I don't know what he sees in you." Dennis said, without looking at me.

'Gee, that makes two of us,' I thought.

My lack of response seemed to annoy Dennis. He turned to me and deliberately said, "I've slept with him."

I didn't comment, but after a moment I noticed that I was holding my glass way too tightly and that if I didn't let go, I was going to break it. I was going to put it on the coffee table, but I realized that if I did, then my hand would be empty, and then I would simply close it into a fist and smash it on Dennis' face.

Talk about surprises.

Such a display of emotion was unfamiliar to me. It was disturbing. This is what love does, I thought. It makes us jealous and possessive, and it makes us make mistakes.

_Love._

There, I'd just admitted it.

"Doesn't it bother you?" Dennis asked, sincerely surprised at my lack of response.

"I think I'd like to knock your teeth out." I replied quietly.

He burst into laughs. He touched my glass with his.

"Good answer." he chuckled. He was silent for a moment, and then he lowered his voice to add, "Look. There's something you should know about Greg. He's friendly and he sees only the good side of life, but deep down he has this…need to be the only one in someone's life. It's hard to live up to those expectations, you know?"

I looked into my glass, while I mused on this. _I_ didn't think it was that hard. Really, if faithfulness was Greg's only expectation, then maybe I could give it a try.

I frowned. _Give it a try?_ What the hell was I thinking?

"I've always told him he was asking too much," Dennis continued, "But I guess he deserves to get what he wants." he looked back at me, "Are you up to it?"

I took a big gulp of my soda.

"I don't know." I said at last.

"Why? Are you concerned about the age difference?" he asked and then he scoffed, "Of course you are. But hey, don't let that ruin your relationship."

I never thought I'd be having this conversation with a perfect stranger. There were just too many emotions to deal with in a single afternoon: Love and desire, anger and jealousy; and now this guy was asking me if I was up to it. Ha.

"You know what your problem is?" Dennis added after a moment, "You think too much."

"If I didn't, you'd be on the floor by now." I said quietly and he laughed again.

"Yes, that's true. Lucky me, huh?"

I was glad when Robin, one of Greg's female friends, mentioned how late it was. Everyone agreed and began to pick up paper plates, plastic forks, and cups, but Greg good naturedly told them not to bother, that we'd clean up. They all had to return to their jobs, after all.

We exchanged goodbyes and promises to meet soon.

I didn't intend to keep those promises, and by the way Greg was looking at me, I could tell he knew just what I was thinking.

* * *

TBC

The description of the book that Grissom read during lunch, was taken from "Insect of the Week," Plant Disease and Insect Clinic, North Carolina State University


	4. A resolution

DILEMMA

Chapter four

This chapter is still under construction…

--

We picked up the trash in silence, but when we returned to the living room he cleared his throat.

"Hey," he said tentatively, "I have a new X Games tape. Want to watch it?"

I looked at him thoughtfully.

"I've been thinking about what you said the other day. About me not wanting to love anyone? You're right. I don't like being in love. Life is too complicated already." I looked at him closely, "And you know, at my age it's stupid to want to hit someone just because he slept with you."

He slowly put the remote back on the TV and faced me.

"Dennis told you." He said and I nodded. "It wasn't serious." He said, "We've always been friends and-" he paused, "Wait a minute. You're _jealous_?"

"Pathetic, huh?"

"Nope." He grinned, "It's kind of flattering, actually."

I rolled my eyes. "I don't want to be jealous."

"So don't." He said gently. He leant against the wall, "Look. I like being with you. I can be patient, but it would be nice to know that you want me."

I kept thinking He was right on all counts. Or partly, at least. Yes, people gave up on me, but Sara was happier now with someone else, and I was glad. I didn't want Greg to give up on me, but I couldn't help thinking that he'd be better off with someone else. I tried not to think about it. Denial was comforting.

We were acting like friends and that was ok. But I was aware that it bothered me, the fact that I needed him this much. He was right -I'd always driven people away, But after a night of dealing with Hodges' half-hearted efforts to stay at CSI, some gruesome cases, and other problems, it was nice to have someone to talk to.

I reached out and tentatively touched his face with the tips of my fingers.

"Just make a decision," He said and then he added helpfully. "A kiss might help."

"We've already done that" I frowned

"No we did not." he interrupted, "I kissed you and your tongue did a disappearing act."

"And according to you, a kiss will make up my mind?" I asked incredulously.

"It might change mine," he replied, cockily, "After all, you might be an atrocious kisser."

Oh, he was good. He was taunting me to do my best.

Well, I wasn't taking the bait. I'd probably be so bad at it that he might end this little game himself.

'_Ha_' I thought. '_You'll be sorry that you asked for it, Greg'_

I pushed my hands in my pockets and stared at him. He stared back. He wasn't going to help, apparently. I took a step towards him and feeling silly and self-conscious, I rigidly pressed my mouth against his once. I pulled back to see his reaction.

"That doesn't count." He said firmly.

I rolled my eyes and awkwardly pressed my lips against his again. This time, our noses clashed. This time he pulled back.

"Oh, for God's sake," He protested, rubbing his nose, "Come on, Grissom! You're not even trying!"

"I'm doing my best," I retorted.

"This is your best?" he asked incredulously, and he looked like he really hoped I didn't mean that.

I suddenly realized that I was acting like an idiot. Here was an opportunity that I would never get again, and I was wasting it.

"Fine," I whisper and leant forward again. I tilted my head and kissed a corner of his mouth. Then the other corner. I kept trying to find the right angle to kiss him. Then he whispered something and I followed his lead. We kissed for real. We tasted each other, tentatively. Once… twice… Then more assuredly, and then completely, hungrily.

I was clenching my hands inside my pockets, resisting the urge to grab him, but he didn't resist his. He drew my head down with both hands, and since that wasn't close enough, he also sucked my tongue deeper into his mouth. I let him take over. I'd felt possessive earlier but _this _was the real thing.

We pulled back at the same, breathless and flushed. I kissed him again, briefly, unable to part so soon. He took a deep breath and then we were kissing again, and I freed my hands out of my pockets to pin him against the wall…

Of course, there was still a little voice telling me to beware. This was a coworker, a young coworker -the youngest, in fact. A male coworker. I was the boss. I should know better... But this felt too good.

I was finally able to pull back at last, amazed at my lack of self control. I tried to say something deep, but what I mumbled was,

"Did you know that the scientific name for kissing is Philematology?"

To his credit, he didn't gloat at the fact that a kiss had reduced me to this sorry state. He smiled.

"Did you know that you burn 26 calories in a one minute kiss?"

I closed my eyes and leant into his arms again.

"I can't believe we're doing this," I muttered, "This is wrong-"

"It's bad too; reeeel bad." He laughed.

"We could get in trouble." I insisted.

"Not if we're careful." He said simply. "Baby… There's no turning back."

"Look, you have to promise to -" I frowned. "Did you just call me 'baby'?" he nodded and I rolled my eyes, "I'm not a baby, Greg."

"Ok. Can I call you honey, then?" He smirked.

"Greg, I'm serious, ok?" I said.

"Ok." He replied, "I'm listening."

"You have to promise you'll tell me if you ever want this to end. I won't take it gently if I find out you're with someone else behind my back-"

Greg was mystified.

"You know, I'll never understand you. We've not done anything yet and you're already planning the break up."

"All right," I accepted, "Let's do something then." I started pushing him towards the hallway.

"What, now?" he said, so surprised that he almost fell over backwards.

"Why not?" I replied, "You didn't make your bed?" He chuckled and kissed me and I had to feel along the wall for the door to his bedroom. I rattled a door knob.

"That's a closet, Grissom" He informed me between kisses.

"Oh," I pushed him against the opposite door and tried again.

"Nope. Broom closet."

"Oh, for God's sake, where the hell is it?"

He laughed and pushed me towards the end of the hallway. Before he opened the door he asked,

"What do you want to do?"

"I… " I frowned. "I have no idea."

"Good." He said approvingly, "We'll improvise, then!"

--

"Uh. Greg?" I whispered tentatively.

"Wha… what, again…?" he mumbled, half asleep. "Give me… a minute…"

I laughed.

"No, not 'again', Greg. Could you just move a little? I'm on a wet spot here."

"Hum. No. There's not dry spot here." He said contentedly, falling asleep again.

I sighed. I couldn't move because he was holding me down. Earlier, just before he fell asleep, he'd asked if it bothered me.

"Some guys hate to cuddle" he explained.

Like I was going to say no to anything he asked.

"It's ok." I said, "Cuddle all you want." And I liked this closeness, but on the other hand I couldn't move much. I was learning the hard way that Greg's multitasking had a wearing effect on him. He was always doing something; reading, writing, playing, learning, 'absorbing'. It was no surprise that when he fell asleep, it was a deep slumber.

Oh, well.

I resigned myself to lie on the wet spot. It was the least I could do, considering we were in a relationship now. For Greg, I'd lie on the wet spot, and more.

Of course, in a few years I might be the one giving advice to my successor on how to love Greg. But for now…

I whispered something in his ear, hoping he'd hear me.

"Hey, Greg? I love you."

* * *

TBC


	5. Christmas Dilemma

CHRISTMAS DILEMMA

Some Christmas fluff…

I'd already published this story, but last night I made some revisions.

Dilemma is the one story that I re-read without cringing too much. I speak Spanish, so I'm bound to make mistakes and when I read any of my stories, I tend to moan something like this: 'OMG, I can't believe I published this!'.

I had finished this story, but I couldn't help adding this chapter.

Thank you for reviewing. Your kind words never fail to put a smile on my face.

* * *

Christmas Dilemma

I kneeled again to examine the corpse.

The d.b. was a text-book example of the black putrefaction stage, (although 'black' is a misnomer; bodies at this stage can look greenish or brown, or blue); gas was beginning to escape, the swelling was collapsing, and the smell…the _stench _was overwhelming, even though we were out in the open. The body had been buried in the backyard of a nice townhouse.

The owner had returned home from a three-week vacation, only to discover that someone had used his place to bury a dead man. Talk about nasty surprises.

Brass had interviewed about a dozen neighbors, but nobody had given him any information. That didn't surprise me; it was obvious they didn't want to get involved. I mean, how could they not smell this and wonder about it?

The absence of witnesses didn't bother me. I had my own witnesses - the kind I trust because lying isn't in their nature: Insects. I had enough samples of egg casings, cast-off pupae, dead adults… I smiled as I finished labeling. I felt optimistic - a bit nauseous - but optimistic nevertheless. I kneeled down again, this time to take samples of the soil beneath the body. Blood had seeped through.

After a moment, I had to turn away to get my gag reflex under control. After all these years, some bodies still do this to me.

I heard footsteps approaching.

"Whoever you are, please stop right there." I warned without turning, "Don't disturb my scene."

"Hey, Grissom." Greg said tentatively.

"Greg?" I glanced over my shoulder, "What are you doing here?"

"I came to help you. Brass said you'd be working this case alone -"

"Not quite. Nick is coming by later."

"I'll help until he gets here, then."

"Greg, you've been up for more than 20 hours, I don't-"

"I'm not tired."

I turned to look fully at him. He had taken a shower and changed clothes, but the dark circles under his eyes belied him. He should have gone home after his shift ended early today, but I'd asked him to stay and help Catherine.

"Go home, Greg." I said, turning back to the dead body.

"What? Why?"

I ignored him and concentrated on my work.

"Grissom," he said and paused until I glanced at him, "I didn't work my ass off to become a CSI just for the thrill," he said and then he lowered his voice, "I did it because I wanted to work with you. But it seems that every time I offer you my help, you send me to work with someone else-"

"And now I'm sending you home," I retorted, "End of discussion."

Greg gave me an impatient look, but before he could say anything, Nick called out from a distance, asking for my instructions. Talking over Greg's shoulder, I asked him to measure the air temperature at ground level while I took the body's temperature.

Greg turned away just as Nick entered the crime scene.

"You leaving, Greggo?" Nick asked good-naturedly.

"Yeah." Greg said, loud enough for me to hear. "I got a party to go to."

I ignored the outburst and continued my work.

* * *

I was very busy that night. I had paperwork to take care of and several cases that required my immediate attention. I needed to transcribe the notes I'd taken earlier, and an autopsy to go to, but there were moments when my main concern was whether he'd gone to a damn party or not.

But then, that's what _love _does, doesn't it? It fills you with insecurity.

At about midnight I called him, half expecting his answering machine. But he answered, sounding confused, as if he had been sleeping soundly. Then he recovered enough to ask why I had called and it was my turn to be confused.

I didn't have any excuses, and I frantically looked around my office trying to find inspiration for a believable lie.

I couldn't find any. That another thing that love does: It turns you into a moron. But then, someone said it best, _when you're in love your brain empties as your heart fills- _or something like that. I read that phrase somewhere, but I can't remember the exact words and I can't remember who said it-

See? My brain is draining at an alarming rate.

"Grissom?" he said, more awake now. "What's up?"

I could have simply told him the truth: _'I was just checking up on you. I wanted to know if you went to a party or to bed… and if you're alone in that bed-'_

Yep. That's what love does. It makes you jealous and insecure.

No way was I going to admit it, though.

"I needed a website." I said firmly, "The one you found when we had to investigate the cyanide poisonings. Remember?"

Poor Greg didn't remember the name of the website right away, and not once did he point out that all I had to do was type 'cyanide'.

Maybe his brain is draining too.

But talking to him helped. After we hung up, I went down to the morgue to view my DB's autopsy, and worked steadily until the end of the shift. Then I closed my desk, packed some paperwork and a few other things from my locker, and asked the receptionist to please hold my calls since I was taking the day off.

The poor woman was so surprised, all she could do was gape and stare at me.

* * *

Juggling paper bags, a gym bag, and my briefcase, I knocked on Greg's door. When he finally opened, he was seriously pissed off.

"I gave you a key" he said, glaring at me. "Why don't you use it?"

"Want some breakfast?" I asked, pressing the paper bags against him until he took them.

He stepped aside to let me in and closed the door behind me.

"I brought ham and bacon muffins-" I said, while I put my briefcase and my gym bag on the coffee table.

"I'm not hungry." He said, "I ate something when _you_ woke me up at midnight. Did you find the web site you needed?"

"Yeah." I said, "Thanks"

"So, you are investigating another cyanide poisoning?"

"Something like that."

"Really." He said skeptically. He clearly didn't believe me. "By the way," he said, "I didn't go to any party last night."

I didn't react.

"I mean," he added, "in case you were wondering."

"I wasn't."

"Whatever."

Back when I wasn't in a relationship, I used to hear couples bicker like this and I'd wonder why people put themselves through such misery, or why they just didn't leave each other alone. And now that I have these silly arguments with Greg, I can't help but ask myself why, oh why I abandoned my structured life for this. But then I just have to look at him and find my answer right there. Like that day, for instance: He was wearing sweats and a ratty old t-shirt; his hair was flattened on one side and wildly spiky on the other… He looked funny. He also looked healthy, handsome… _cuddly_.

All I could think of was, 'who wouldn't abandon that life for this guy?'

"I'm sorry I sent you home." I said, taking him by surprise. He didn't expect me to go straight to the point.

"It's ok," he said, "I'm getting used to it."

I was going to say something about not wanting him to spend all his time at the lab when he frowned.

"Why are you still wearing coveralls?"

"I thought you liked them." I said quietly –and expectantly. He was a little slow, (he was still sleepy after all), but suddenly he looked up, disbelief clearly written on his features.

"You didn't-" he said.

"Yep." I said, smugly.

A while ago, he casually mentioned that he had always fantasized about me in coveralls and nothing else. As fantasies go, that was pretty tame; after all, Greg has a box filled with some truly appalling objects that he calls 'toys'. But he hasn't tried to use them on me yet, and I wanted to thank him. Wearing coveralls was a small thing to do. I was itchy and uncomfortable, and the denim was chafing- but it did the trick.

"Wow, Grissom." he said, and his eyes practically twinkled "If this is your way of apologizing for sending me home, you're forgiven." He started walking backwards towards the hallway.

"Hey," I frowned, "Where are you going?"

"Back to my bedroom, Dr. Grissom." He said, "There's a body you've got to investigate right now-"

Later on, just before he fell asleep he mumbled,

"You know, Gil... If you used your key, you'd be perfect."

I was starting to drift off, but his words woke me up.

That damned key.

A couple of weeks ago, Greg entered my office and put several reports on my desk; then with a flourish, he put a key on top.

"Here." He said.

"What is that for?" I frowned.

"My place." He said, "So you can come on over any time you want."

He paused - in case it occurred to me to say 'thanks', I guess- but I just stared at the key. In fact I stared at it for so long that I didn't notice when he left.

At that moment that key seemed so filled with hidden meaning I couldn't even touch it.

It spoke of commitment, or reciprocity at the very least.

I know little of relationships, but I _know_ that I have to give him a key to _my_ place now.

I don't want to do that, and that's why I don't use his key. I carry it with me all the time, but I pretend it doesn't exist.

I sighed. I wasn't sleepy anymore.

Yep. That's another thing love does. It keeps you awake, even after a 15-hour shift.

* * *

I didn't stay for long in bed. I got up, got some clothes from a stash I keep at his place, and took a shower.

He didn't stir.

A couple of hours later I was comfortably settled in his couch, reading a report. I like to work at his place. He usually does his own stuff and lets me do mine. We wear earphones and listen to our own music. We've even found a way of sharing the couch without bothering each other; I sit, he lies down.

Mr. I'm-not-tired appeared at ten at last. Munching on a bacon-and-egg muffin, fresh from his shower, he patted my shoulder in passing.

"I'm going to take some clothes down to the laundry," he said, "I'll take your coveralls too if you want." He smiled

I smiled back. Those poor coveralls would need a thorough washing before I could take them back to the lab.

On second thought…

"I'm not returning those." I said, "No matter how thoroughly you wash them, there's evidence there. I'll just replace them in the inventory."

"I'll keep them here then. I'll add them to my goody box."

My poor denim coveralls sharing space with his leather stuff? Scary.

A half hour later he returned to the couch, eating a second muffin and carrying a pillow and a couple of books. He likes to eat and read at the same time, which is why all his paperbacks have stains. I know what he ate when he read them: Tomato sauce from pizza, mustard from the occasional hot dog, and black beans from burritos. But this time he had a stack of napkins with him; he was going to read a textbook.

"Hey." He said, sitting on the opposite end of the couch. He was wearing sweats and thick white socks, his standard at-home clothing. He eyed my reports. "How long are you going to work on those?"

"A couple of hours, I guess."

"That's what you said last time." He said, "And then we got a call about a body in the desert, remember?"

I remembered, but bringing paperwork to his place was the only way I could take any time off the lab without neglecting my work. However, this time I had a surprise for him.

"I turned my pager off today." I said, getting a reaction from him that rivaled that of the receptionist.

He sat on the opposite corner of the couch but instead of putting his feet on the coffee table like me, he turned them towards me.

"Hey, Grissom; can I put my feet on your lap?"

"What?" I frowned, "No."

"Why not?"

"I'm busy here, Greg"

"I'm not going to interrupt your work, Grissom." He said patiently, "I said I wanted to put 'my feet' on your lap not 'my head' or 'my face'."

I glared, letting him know that I wasn't going to give in so easily. My glares don't work on him outside the lab, though. He just stared back, knowing that I would give in eventually.

"Ok." I said, lifting the reports I had on my lap.

"Thanks, baby."

I narrowed my eyes, but he didn't notice. He made himself comfortable and opened a book. Before long, he noticed that I was still looking at him.

"What?" he asked innocently.

"Nothing." I said, turning back to my work.

_Baby_. God, I hate it when he calls me that. I mean, come on. _Baby_? Me? It's complete bullshit. He uses that word whenever he wants to ask me something. And the worst part is that it works; I hardly ever say no after he calls me that. Say he wants to go to a basket ball game and I don't; we argue about it until he sighs and says, 'Oh, come on' -and as soon as I see him press his lips together, I know what he's going to say. I look away but it's useless; as soon as I hear that damn word… I just fall for it.

I know why, by the way. It's simple, really. I was never a 'baby'. Neither my parents nor anyone I knew when I was a kid ever called me sweet names like baby or honey; so when he does, I'm moved by it.

And the word sounds natural, coming from his lips. I suspect that in his family, words like these were said every day. Greg was 'baby' and 'honey' for them, and I'm sure he still is.

I know he _knows_ what the word does to me, and he uses it accordingly.

It bothers me, sometimes. But then, love is manipulative, isn't it? I read somewhere that love isn't a game for equals; in its truest form, love is played by a tyrant and a slave… Guess who's the slave here.

I looked at him; the book he was reading hid half his face, but I could see his eyes. He was studiously avoiding looking at me. Yep. There was something brewing in that head…

I decided to be on my guard all day.

I continued reading my reports until I noticed that he was looking up at me now and then. But every time I glanced at him, he turned his attention back to his book. By the fifth time this happened, I'd had enough.

"What?" I glared.

"What, what?" he asked, lowering his book.

"What do you want?"

"Me?" he frowned, "Nothing."

"You've been glancing at me-"

"Well, well," he scoffed, "_someone_ has a very high opinion of his looks-"

"Greg, I need to finish this report." I reminded him, "I need to concentrate and you're not helping. It's bad enough that I have your stinking feet up on my face-"

"My feet don't stink!" he sputtered indignantly, getting his feel off my lap. I started to chuckle. He's so easy sometimes. He blinked, "Oh. You're joking. I should put my feet on your face, just to teach you a lesson."

I reached for his feet and put them back on my lap. I patted them, and I noticed that his white socks had little thin patches from daily wear and tear.

"Greg?" I said, "I need to finish this, ok?"

"Ok." He said resignedly. "I won't look at you anymore." And to show me he meant it, he moved his book so it blocked his view of me.

I was glad for this small victory, but I should have known it couldn't be that easy.

"You know," he said after a moment (and without looking at me) "I like your nose."

I ignored him.

"And those lashes… the longest lashes I've ever seen"

I put down my pen.

"Greg, I need a couple of hours to finish these-"

"Funny, that's what you always say." He said from behind his book, "Every two hours you say that you need two more hours."

"Greg…"

"Ok, fine." He muttered, "I'll wait."

He let me work for almost half an hour before he started again.

"I like your cheeks."

I pretended not to hear.

"Yeah, I like them." He said, as if I needed reassurance, "They're meaty and-"

"Meaty?" I frowned, "Is that a nice way of saying that my cheeks are fat, Greg?"

"I wouldn't say fat." He said thoughtfully, "They _are_ round and firm," he added. He lowered the book, "But I admit I got carried away today." He said sheepishly, "I think I bit too hard."

I fell for it, inevitably. I just had to touch my face; if I had a bite I needed to know.

He chuckled.

"Oh, _those _aren't the cheeks I'm talking about."

This time my pen practically flew from my hand.

Damn.

"You're not gonna let me finish this, are you?"

"Nope." He said placidly.

"What do you want?" I asked, hoping the '_baby_' wouldn't cost me much.

"I want you to take a nap," He said, swinging his legs off my lap. "Here," he added, patting the space he'd been occupying on the couch. "You can finish those reports at the lab."

He got up and waited for me to lie down. I considered arguing, but he had a look I know well; his 'this-is-my-home-and-I-make-the-rules-here' look.

"I'm not tired." I said as I crawled to take his place in the couch. I couldn't let him think he could win so easily. "I'll just close my eyes for a couple of minutes."

I didn't hear his response. Apparently, I fell asleep as soon as I put my head down on his pillow.

When I woke up, the first thing I saw was his head, a couple of inches away from me. He was sitting on the floor, reading a book, leaning against the couch. I leant forward and kissed the back of his neck. He turned.

"Hey." He whispered.

"Hey." I mumbled, "What time is it?"

"Two, two thirty," he said, "You hungry? Lunch's warming up. Spaghetti for you and hot dogs for me."

"Great," I scoffed, "You'll be farting all afternoon."

"So? You'll be giving me garlic kisses all afternoon." He countered, leaning forward for a kiss. After a pause, he added, "I hope."

I smiled and ruffled his hair.

"So," he said after a moment, "You weren't tired, huh?"

"I was." I admitted, "As tired as you were last night." I added meaningfully.

"Touché." He said. He looked closely at me, "Grissom, hum." He hesitated, "I've been meaning to ask you something-"

Oh, crap.

I'd been duped. The _baby_ word had been uttered for something else.

"Do you think I can have December 22 off?" he said, and then he quickly added, "I'd be willing to work on Christmas Eve and New Year's Eve in exchange for it."

Ok, that wasn't so bad. It was a good idea, actually. Sometimes cops and technicians get 'sick' during the holidays. It was nice to know that I'd get some back up. I was relieved too; I thought he was going to ask for something else –a raise, vacation time, and so forth. I should have known that Greg would never take advantage of his position as boss' lover.

"Ok." I said cautiously. "You can have the 22."

"Thanks, Grissom. I appreciate this. I'm going to be really busy, you know? I'm hosting my family's Christmas party this year." He explained, "My grandparents will be here, and some cousins too; even my sister Karen will come all the way from Minnesota. It'll be great. By the way" He looked curiously at me, "you've never told me what you do for Christmas."

"I work."

"I _know _you work on Christmas day and Christmas Eve." He said patiently, "But what do you _do_? You're Catholic, aren't you? Do you put up a crèche? A tree? Lights on the driveway? A dancing Santa in your living room? " I shook my head every time he paused, waiting for my answers. "Do you eat turkey? Ham? Tamales?" he paused, "Do you sacrifice virgin moths at midnight while performing some ancient ritual known only to Entomologists?"

"We only do that on Halloween," I quipped.

"So? What do you do?"

"I don't do anything." I said calmly, "And I don't give gifts either" I pointed out, just in case.

"Oh." He muttered, somewhat disappointed. He recovered quickly though, "Well, if you don't do anything then maybe you could-"

"No." I said.

"No, what?" he frowned.

"Whatever," I shrugged, "the answer is no."

"Hey, you could at least wait until I ask." he protested.

"Greg, I'm not helping you to cook or to decorate or-"

"Ha, like _I_'m going to cook," he muttered, "My sisters will take care of that. All you have to do is be here on the 22nd."

"I'll have to work."

"That's ok; you can come at any time of the day. That's the beauty of my family's party, Grissom. We have a full day of celebrations: We go to church early in the morning; then we have breakfast, lunch, and dinner together. Family members come and go all day-"

"I'll be busy, Greg."

"Come on," he coaxed, "You can leave the lab for a few hours, Grissom. I mean, you have to eat, don't you? Instead of going down to the deli, just come on over and have some great Norwegian style home-cooking."

"Like cod?" I asked skeptically.

"Cod and halibut, yeah; but there'll also be pork ribs and patties, Christmas sausage and spiced cabbage. There'll be desserts too: cloudberry cream, crème caramel and creamed rice. And-" he paused for effect, "My famous punch; a delicate concoction made with fruit juices and vodka that nobody's been able to duplicate. Chemists have hounded me for years for the recipe, and-"

I let him talk. Greg grows enthusiastic over every event in his life –work, sex, holidays, whatever- and his passions are usually contagious. This time I was pretty safe, though. I _don't_ celebrate Christmas. The _baby _word wouldn't do the trick.

"-back in Norway they used to leave food out," he was saying, "in case spirits and little people- or _nisse_- visited the farm. The _nisse _could not be forgotten, you know? Otherwise ill fortune would befall the farm. We've tried to keep these traditions over the years. But you'll have a chance to see all that." he looked expectantly at me.

"Greg… I appreciate the offer, but I just don't celebrate Christmas."

"Well, our celebration isn't just about Christmas, Grissom. Or _religion_." He added meaningfully, "It's about family. We get together, we make decorations, and we sing old songs… Plus, we meet the new _in-laws_. Papa Olaf and mama Asty will be thrilled to meet you."

Oh.

No way. I had no intention of meeting the fabled grandfather. I have one recurrent nightmare where I meet him and he's practically my age-

I didn't want to find out that I was right.

No way was I getting into this mess-

"Ok." I said.

He gaped.

"Whoa." He said when he recovered from the surprise, "Whoa, Grissom. You mean it?"

Actually, I didn't mean it. But one thing I've learned lately is that sometimes is better not to tell the truth. Love does that: It makes liars out of us. But telling him the truth would have hurt him and the day would have been ruined.

"Sure," I said.

"Oh, man!" he smiled, "I thought it was going to take me a whole afternoon to convince you! This is great." He patted my chest, "You'll like it. You're right, cod isn't that good, but the pork with the crackling… it's tasty. Or it'll be, if my sister doesn't burn it like she did last year. But I promise you'll like the rice- "

I let him talk.

* * *

He didn't broach the subject again until the 21st, when he came to my office and handed me his field report. I was about to sign it when he put something else on my desk. A present, wrapped in colorful Christmas paper. I looked up.

"We agreed there'd be no gifts." I said.

"No, Grissom." he said patiently, "_You_ decided and _I_ complied. I wanted to give you a blue shirt-"

"You _gave_ me a blue shirt." I frowned. A couple of days before he'd given it to me, claiming that he'd never wore it 'cause it was just too big for him. "You said someone gave it to you on your last birthday-"

"Yeah." He said calmly, "If I'd told you it was a Christmas gift you wouldn't have taken it, would you?"

I frowned. I couldn't believe it… It had suddenly dawned on me that _I_ might be the tyrant in this relationship.

But no, it couldn't be; after all, I usually ended up doing what _he _wanted, didn't I?

Or maybe we ended up doing things only when _I_ relented? Only when _I_ said yes?

"Anyway," he said, "_this_ isn't from me. It's from my grandmother."

"Oh." I muttered.

That was worse.

I looked down and gingerly poked at the package.

"Don't worry," he said dryly, "she killed it before wrapping it."

"What?" I frowned.

"Just open it, Grissom."

"Shouldn't I wait until Christmas Day?" I ventured, but he just threw me a look. "Ok, fine." I said, carefully unwrapping the package.

Socks. Black, with a beautifully intricate design in green, blue, and gray.

"These are hand-knitted, Grissom." Greg explained when I didn't say anything. "I had to borrow one of your socks so she could use it as a model."

"I like them," I said in case he thought I didn't appreciate the gift, "I'm surprised, that's all." And before I could check myself I added, "My grandmother used to knit socks like these."

"Are you sure?" he frowned, "This is an authentic Norwegian pattern-"

"Scandinavian." I corrected, "My grandmother was born in Sweden."

"Sweden? Oh, man, you never told me that!" he smiled, "What was her name?"

"Helle."

"You don't think you and me are distant cousins or something, do you?"

"We're not." I glared, already regretting mentioning my grandmother.

"I was _joking_, Grissom." He sighed. "Look, I know you don't wear patterned socks, but you'll have to wear them tomorrow. It's one of our traditions. Mama Asty knits something for every member of the family to wear at the party. One year the poor girl wore herself out knitting sweaters. Now all she manages are socks and scarves..."

I wanted to point out to him that I was not a family member, but I wisely did not. I just let him talk.

"… her real name is Astrid, but my older sister couldn't manage it, so she called her Asty, and that's what the rest of us have called her ever since." he paused. "Look…" he said after a moment, "I really –really- hope you come to the party."

"I said I would." I frowned.

"Sure, but we both know how it is, Grissom. You can always _find _something else to do."

Uh, oh. Busted.

"Think about it, ok?" he said.

* * *

Today is the 22 and I've been thinking about it. I'm torn between going to the lab and staying there until tomorrow, or going to his place.

I don't want to go to his Christmas celebration, but there is a part of me who wants to be there and see for himself what the big deal is. The part of me who used to look at unbroken families and happy couples with pity – because he knew that their happiness wasn't eternal, no matter what they thought - but with wistfulness too, because he would have given anything to taste a bit of that joy, no matter how brief it was…

Finally, I make up my mind. At eleven, I call Warrick and ask him to take over my office duties. He says yes without needing any explanations; he simply says that he needs the distraction. I gather these holidays are a difficult time for him.

Well. Join the club.

So, clad in the hand-knitted socks and my only suit, (yes, I want to make a good impression; yes, I feel slightly ridiculous.) I'm ready to go. I know that giving gifts is a big part of the holidays so I make sure that I have my credit card in my wallet. I'll stop somewhere and buy something for mama Asty, and maybe something for Greg too.

But just as I'm leaving my bedroom, I look at the door at the end of the hallway. My storage room. I rarely ever take anything from it, but I know there is something there that could be perfect for today.

I open the door and see dozens of boxes piled up against the walls, all containing treasures and mementos that I've hoarded over the years. I immediately find the one I need. It's a box labeled 'Grandmother'. I don't dwell on the contents for long. What I need is on top, still wrapped in delicate tissue paper: A lacy handkerchief that I bought during a trip to Switzerland. My grandmother had been dead for years by then, but I couldn't help buying it for her. She would have appreciated it.

Maybe now there is someone else who will appreciate it just as well.

So, here I am. I have two packages in my hands; the handkerchief for mama Asty and half a dozen white socks for Greg. I've been standing in front of his door for about ten minutes, mustering the courage to knock. I've been listening to him and his family laugh and talk, and just a minute ago one of the women started to sing and the others joined in. There are other assorted sounds coming from inside too: Someone's using scissors and a glue gun – Greg said something about home-made Christmas ornaments, didn't he? – and someone's using his blender. There are smells too: fresh-baked bread and something spicy and sweet, plus the awful smell of fish. Oh, well.

I'm about to knock, when I notice a basket hanging from a nail beside his door. It's filled with little squares of candy wrapped in cellophane.

"For the nisse" I mutter, remembering his words.

I slowly chew on a piece of candy and lift my hand again, but I don't knock.

I don't have to. I have a key.

I take it and push it into the keyhole, and suddenly I have the feeling that I'm about to gamble the rest of my life and I truly don't know the odds…

But _what the hell_. I'll do it.

It's what he wants; and deep down, it's what _I_ want to do too.

Besides…_This is what you do for love._

THE END


	6. Valentine's day: A Menace from Dennis

DILEMMA

For this chapter I'm assuming that Sara is involved with Warrick.

Margot, this is my favorite story too.

* * *

The Christmas holidays came and went, and I felt I could start to breathe more easily. I'd finally met Greg's family and things had been great. Ok, not great, but better that I expected. For instance, my recurrent nightmare did not turn into reality: Papa Olaf and I aren't the same age –and he's much older than me. And Mama Asty was absolutely charmed by my gift.

On the other hand, neither papa Olaf, nor Greg's sisters were that thrilled about me at first. I understood completely; they were simply protecting the younger Sanders –the favorite grandson. I took it upon myself to do something about it and I ended up disarming papa Olaf by sitting beside him and listening to his endless talk of life in Norway. He appreciated the audience, and since he loved the outdoors, he told me all about the insects there.

As for Greg's sisters, I got along fine with Ingrid, but Karen was another story.

One look at each other and I knew she hated my guts. It was unmistakable -I've seen that look on perps before. The first she did when Greg introduced me was to say something in Norwegian that made them all wince and studiously avoid looking at me. Not missing a beat, Greg replied something in Norwegian too, and this time everybody's reaction was more mystifying: Karen reddened; and the others looked directly at my crotch.

I froze. I was fighting the urge to check on my zipper, when mama Asty intervened.

"Oh, I'm sorry, Gil; that was awfully rude of us. It's just that Karen said that you seem a bit long in the tooth-"

Oh.

"And Greg here," mama Asty added gleefully, "He told her that's not the only part of your body that's long."

With the exception of Karen, all the Sanders laughed, and papa Olaf clapped my back and said something in Norwegian that no one offered to translate but made them laugh harder.

Poor Greg was looking at me, worried about my reaction, but I smiled mechanically. I was thinking, 'What the hell; Christmas comes only once a year.' I could take it.

Later that day, mama Asty told me about Karen. She had been the baby in the family until Greg came along, and they couldn't be more different.

"When they were little, Greg would feed the mice in the den behind my back," she said, smiling fondly, "While Karen… she would trap cockroaches and spiders, and pick them apart, leg by leg-"

I winced and looked at Karen. She smiled evilly at me.

Mama Asty smiled placidly and added, "If she had started setting fires or wetting the bed, I would have worried," She smiled when she noticed me lifting an eyebrow. Cruelty to small animals, fire-setting and bed-wetting are classic signs of Psychopathic behavior, and I was surprised to hear her mention them, "I'm a Psychiatrist," she explained. "I was well aware of all the dangerous signs and I kept an eye on Karen, but in time I realized that she was only expressing her interest in the way living creatures functioned." She looked fondly at her granddaughter, "She's a surgeon now."

I wasn't convinced.

Still, things went well after that, and Greg's family reunion was a success. Family ties are important for him, and I was glad to see that all his hard work had paid off. As for the Sanders…I liked them, but I was glad that the next family reunion was eleven months away.

Now I know I better, but at the time I thought that meeting Greg's family –and doing it successfully- was the only rite of passage I'd have to pass in order to have a relationship. And January was such a quiet month that it left me utterly unprepared for my next trial:

Valentine's Day.

I was vaguely aware that couples made a big deal out of that day, but it wasn't until a week before the holiday that I realized how important the day was.

Sara, Greg, and me were going home at the end of the shift, when Sara (yeah, _Sara_) started talking about the big day. I was surprised by her talking about her relationship with Warrick until I realized that Greg and I are the only ones who know so far.

Dating Warrick has done her a lot of good.

"We're having lunch at La Lumière," She said proudly.

"Wow, _nice,_ _Warrick_," Greg said appraisingly.

"Why do you assume that _he_ made the reservations?" Sara frowned.

"Wow, _nice_, _Sara._" Greg said, using the same tone.

"Actually, it was Warrick," Sara admitted. "It's the first time either of us celebrates the day and he's obsessed with the planning. What about you?" she asked Greg, "Any plans?"

"Not yet." He said evasively.

"Well, a table for two can be turned into a table for four." Sara said generously, "In case you're interested in a double date."

Sara knew better than to make that offer to _me_. She had no idea that Greg and me were together.

After saying our goodbyes, I drove to Greg's place. We hadn't had a chance to be together for almost a week; he'd been attending a seminar that took all his free time and I'd been in court, testifying in a case that seemed endless. We had _seen_ each other, but only at the morgue while Doc Robbins explained to us why someone had died, or upstairs as Mia told us all about a victim's DNA. It had been frustrating.

We talked on the phone while we drove, discussing our priorities: breakfast or sex? I pointed out that we hadn't eaten in twelve hours, but he argued, 'Are you seriously telling me that you'd rather eat food?'

He was right, of course.

When I entered his apartment, he was already there, fiddling with his answering machine.

Without saying anything, I slowly pulled him to the couch.

We're always promising never to have sex on the couch again. It's messy, it's uncomfortable, we look slightly ridiculous with our pants pushed down around our ankles, and we have to scrub the denim cover afterwards. But it's the perfect place when we're in a hurry. We did not have much time that Friday –I needed to be in Court at ten, and he still had to go to his seminar.

But once he straddled me, I forgot all about being in a hurry. I mean, I really wanted him, but I also wanted to take my time. I tortured myself by unbuttoning his shirt very slowly, delaying the moment of rediscovery. He leant forward, now and then, to kiss my neck or to nibble on my ear.

I've never told him this, but the feel of his unshaven jaw on my skin is a big turn on. That morning I was feeling it only fleetingly, but it was enough.

So, there we were, cozily getting reacquainted with each other, when the answering machine picked up the first of several calls. I didn't pay any attention at first; those calls were usually predictable: there was always someone who wanted to hang out with Greg over the weekend -there was always a party to go to or a movie to see- or someone who needed a book or a favor.

I knew these friends of his and I was aware that some of them had been, at some time or another, more than friends. They were still in the picture because it's hard to let go of him, and because he's a generous, kind guy.

I usually didn't mind –after all, _I _was the one having all the fun; I could afford to be generous too- but this time the messages were different.

Sample:

"Hey, honey-baby," (a sultry female voice that I recognized immediately) "It's Danielle here; are you home? If you are, give me a call. I'm planning my Valentine's party, and I'd love to have you and Gil. And your punch, of course. Call me at the office, pleeeease!"

After two or three similar messages, I started to pay attention. Apparently everyone was throwing a party next weekend, and they were hoping I'd be going too.

"Hey," Greg said suddenly, firmly grabbing my jaw until I looked at him, "Pay attention to me."

"Sorry." I mumbled.

He was right, of course; there was something better to concentrate on –the skin I was slowly uncovering as I unbuttoned his shirt. I leant to kiss it, tasting the generic soap that we use at the lab. Greg had showered so quickly he hadn't rinsed off properly. No matter; with a little patience, I was going to get to taste the real him-

But Greg had other plans; he impatiently pushed me flat on the couch.

"Court today." he said hoarsely, " 'member? Got-no-time-"

Fine by me. Letting him take over is another big turn on.

Afterwards, Greg tucked his head under my chin and fell asleep, leaving the post-coital arrangements to me. Pinned down as I was by him, all I could do was arrange his limbs around me so we could share the couch. I put an arm around him and tried to get some sleep.

The calls kept coming, but it was the last one that really made me pause.

"Gregory, it's Pete. Robin's giving her red-heart party on Sunday 13; are you free? Maybe you can convince Gil to come- But hey, if he can't, I can hook you up with a cousin of mine. Call me, ok?"

_Hook him up with a cousin? _

I glared at the answering machine as if Pete had been standing there.

* * *

That night we got a call about a dead body in the desert, and I took Greg with me.

It was my night to drive -we usually took turns at the wheel whenever we worked together at a crime scene. I was tired, but I didn't mind driving; his lively conversation always kept me alert.

But that night he was unusually quiet. He was slumped against the passenger door, staring at the cars we were passing.

I decided to stop for coffee.

"What's up?" he asked when I made an unexpected turn.

"You're too quiet tonight." I said, "I need coffee to keep me awake."

He glanced outside and gaped when he saw the shop I had parked in front of.

"_Loving Bear Donuts,_ Grissom?" he asked, completely amazed.

"Yeah."

"You come here?"

"Yes. Why?" I frowned, "It's a great place."

"But it's just so… cutesy" he protested, "and that damn smiling bear is so obnoxious-"

"Hum. Yeah, it is." I admitted. That smiling bear's face was everywhere, (even on the toilet paper), and its smile wasn't really nice; it was more like a psycho's. "But it's open 24/7," I said in its defense, "and it's one of the few places in this city that don't have slot machines."

"Yeah, but… _Loving Bear Donuts_-" he muttered as he followed me into the shop. "I mean, look at those stupid bears-"

"I'm buying." I said.

"Oh." He stopped, "In that case, I want chocolate donuts," He said, winking at me. "I'll get a table."

Ann, the girl behind the counter smiled at me. Actually, she smirked -something she had never done- and started reciting a list of Valentine's Day combos, (I still can't believe they got so many combinations from the three products they sell: coffee, bagels and donuts.)

I listened politely, but by the time she described the fourth combo, I'd had enough.

"Actually," I said while she took a pause to breathe, "I only want two cups of coffee and some-"

"Would you like our Harlequin combo?" she continued, "It includes two ceramic mugs and a dozen donuts of your choice."

"-bagels." I finished.

"If you like bagels, then you will love our Loving Bear Donut-Bagel combo." She said solicitously, "It includes half a dozen of our Red-Heart bagels and half a dozen donuts, plus two loving bear beanie babies-"

"I don't want any loving bear-"

"And with every combo," she interrupted, "you'll receive two loving bear hearts, completely free." She said, touching a red paper heart that she had stuck on her chest pocket, below her name tag.

It was then that I really noticed the decorations. The smiling bear, I had seen before, but now its face was plastered on red paper hearts all over the place, even on the employees.

"What can I get you?" she smiled expectantly.

Greg was grinning by the time I finally made it to the table. Not only had I let the girl talk me into buying the Loving Bear combo, I'd also let her stick a red paper heart on my shirt. She had practically ambushed me with it before I could say no. Greg had obviously been watching.

"Aw, how sweet-" he started.

"Shut up." I warned as he rose to take the tray from me. "See this?" I asked, showing him a red paper heart, "I can stick this on your mouth if you say something."

"Ha." he said, completely unconcerned, "Hey," he frowned, "Where's my loving bear beanie baby?"

I gave him a look, but I handed him one of the bears I'd put deep inside my pocket.

We sat and divided the food.

"I don't get it." I said, "I've come to this place before and that woman has never offered me any combos-"

"That's because you'd always come alone," he explained as he reached for a donut, "Tonight, she saw me coming in with you, and she assumed we were a couple-"

I froze.

"Why would she assume that?" I asked, feeling something close to panic. If a complete stranger could assume that, then people at the lab –professionals who are trained to observe- might do more than assume… They might discover the truth.

Greg grinned.

"Well… maybe she noticed that I was checking out your butt when we came in-"

I narrowed my eyes, but he only chuckled and picked up his cup of coffee.

He made a face when he got a whiff of it.

"These places sell the worst stuff-"

"You're a coffee snob."

"I'm a connoisseur," he amended, taking a sip. "Mmmmh. Actually, it's not that bad."

"Good, I'm glad you approve." I said, trying to sound sarcastic and only managing to sound relieved.

Greg bit into a donut and hummed his approval. He finished it in three bites.

"These taste differently," he said, eyeing another donut, "They're less oily-"

"See this?" I said, lifting a bagel, "From March to January it's simply a bagel with strawberry jam spread in the middle. On February it's a 'Red-Heart Bagel.'"

He grinned.

"It's Valentine's Day, baby." He said. "It's a chance for them to make an extra buck." He looked around, "I bet they don't even play this kind of music the rest of the year."

I hadn't noticed the music. They usually played non-descript instrumental music, but that night they were playing love songs.

"Hey, I like that one," Greg said suddenly.

"You do?" I was surprised; it was a really old one, 'You've Lost that Loving Feeling.'

"Sure." He nodded, "I've always thought it's a gay love song."

"What?" I frowned, "Why?"

"You don't see it?" he asked, "Oh, come on," he snorted, "One guy singing to another, _'Baby, baby, I'll get down on my knees for you'_. Ring any bells?"

"That means he's willing to grovel for a girl's love." I argued.

"Or he's making a promise of good times to come." He replied, winking at me.

I smiled and bit into my red-heart bagel.

I was suddenly reminded me of the messages he'd gotten that day. We hadn't had time to talk about it, since he was still asleep when I left at nine.

"So, Robin has a Red-Heart party coming up, huh?" I said.

He was about to bite into his third donut but stopped.

"Did you hear Pete's message?" he asked.

"I heard several," I scowled. "It seems that everyone's planning something for next weekend."

"It's Valentine Day, Grissom." He smiled. "My friends take that holiday seriously. There are plenty of parties, but no matter which ones we go to, we all end up at Robin's. It's a tradition."

"A St. Valentine's Day tradition," I said. I should have left it at that, but I couldn't help asking, "Are there any other traditions that I should be aware of?"

"Well…" he hesitated, "Yeah." He nodded, "Dennis and I have always done something together."

I didn't comment. Dennis the Psychologist was yet another ex-boyfriend-turned-friend who kept calling and visiting.

"We take turns." He explained, "Two years ago he bought me dinner and last year I took him to see Elton John," Greg rolled his eyes, "That was a real _sacrifice_ for me-"

"I didn't know you'd been together that long." I said.

"We've been friends for years." He shrugged, "We _dated_ on and off-"

We were silent for a moment, but it wasn't the companionable silence that I'd come to enjoy in our relationship. It was unnerving.

"Want a refill?" I asked abruptly, and took his cup without waiting for an answer.

When I returned with the coffee, he looked up.

"Are you coming to Robin's party, Grissom?"

"No, but I'll be glad to make a contribution." I said. I never went to Robin's parties, although I usually sent a few loaves of French bread or a bottle of wine. Greg had given up asking me to come until then. "What about you?"

He briefly looked at me before shaking his head.

"Why not?" I asked.

"It's a _Valentine's Day_ party, Grissom."

"So?"

He looked incredulously at me but didn't say anything.

"You should go." I insisted, "Robin's a good friend."

Greg put down his donut and stared at me.

"You really wouldn't mind if I went to her party-" He said slowly, as if he wanted to make sure he'd understood.

"You've done it before." I replied.

He looked at me as if I had grown an extra nose.

"What?" I frowned.

He shook his head.

"You could pretend a little, now and then, Grissom." He sighed.

"Pretend, what?"

He bit into a donut and chewed -slowly, very slowly, taking all the time in the world just to avoid answering.

I stared at him.

"Pretend…" I started, and then I had a sudden insight that left me stunned. "You want me to be jealous?"

He scoffed.

"Ha, like _that_'s ever going to happen-" he muttered, "No, Grissom." he said aloud, "I don't want you to be jealous-"

"Good," I said calmly, "Because then I'd never have a moment's peace; you're always getting calls from your ten ex-boyfriends and girlfriends-

"Ten?" he asked indignantly, "_Ten_ ex-boyfriends and girlfriends?"

"Ok," It was my turn to mutter, "Three."

"Yeah. Three." He said. He stared at me for a moment and then he leant forward. "Does it bother you, Grissom?" he asked, "The calls, the invitations-"

Oh, yeah. Only that morning I'd been telling myself that it didn't, but Pete's call had changed all that. He had offered to hook him up with someone else; I didn't appreciate that.

Not that I was going to admit it.

"No." I said. Greg kept his gaze on me and I felt I ought to explain, "Look," I said, "I admit those calls were kind of distracting today, but usually I don't mind. You're still an important part of their lives, and I understand that." I said reasonably, but he simply stared at me. What did he want me to say? I couldn't forbid him to see his friends, could I? "It's a healthy attitude." I said, justifying myself.

He sighed.

"It is," he said reluctantly, "I guess I just wish things were as easy for me." he added, before taking a sip of his coffee.

"What do you mean?" I frowned, but he didn't answer. He simply stared at me over the rim of his cup. "You're not jealous, are you?" I asked half in jest, but he didn't smile back; he just stared at me. "Greg, I don't have ten people calling me at all times;" I said and he gave me a look of disbelief that stunned me. "What?" I asked, honestly mystified.

He put his cup down and leant forward.

"Look," he started, "… It's just that sometimes, you -" he paused. He seemed to be taking too long to say whatever he wanted to say, and then he backed off, "Nah, you wouldn't understand."

I gaped.

I couldn't remember Greg ever having a problem explaining something to me. This really was a first.

I waited. I was giving him a chance to say something but hoping he would not; if he thought I wouldn't understand, then he was probably right.

Silence was heavy between us again. When my cell phone rang, I answered it quickly.

Brass wanted to know where the hell I was. He didn't say it as politely, but I didn't mind; I was grateful for the diversion.

* * *

We returned to the lab towards dawn. I went to my office, and Greg went to Trace.

It was a busy night; we didn't meet until he stopped by my office before going home. I was swamped with paperwork.

"What are you doing tonight?" I asked, since it was his night off.

"I'm gonna stay home. I tivoed some shows-"

Our gazes met over a pile of paperwork.

I had successfully suppressed our earlier conversation from my mind for most of the night, but now I was reminded of his words and his hesitation, and I was suddenly afraid.

"Greg-" I started, but he spoke at the same time.

"Are you coming tomorrow?"

"Yes." I said, relieved by the interruption, "I'll bring breakfast."

"Ok." He smiled, "Great. We could watch the Myth Busters marathon on the Discovery Channel."

"I can't." I said regretfully, "I'll have to be at the Body Farm at ten."

"On a Sunday?" he asked, but before I could explain he shrugged, "Ok, then. See you."

He was reaching the door when I called out.

"Greg?" I waited until he turned. "Should I be jealous?"

He was surprised by the question. He leant against the doorframe.

"No." he said.

Then he was gone.

* * *

On Sunday, it was déjà vu for us: We had a quickie on the couch; we were dozing, and Greg's friends were calling again. I did my best to ignore them; I kept telling myself I had no reason to be insecure; that I was the one Greg wanted to be with.

I was doing ok until Dennis the Psychologist called. First he wanted to know whether Greg was going to any of the parties next week. Then he broached the subject of their annual 'St. Valentine's date'

"It's my turn this year, and I've got a huge surprise!" He said cheerfully, "I'll drop by at ten and tell you all about it. You're gonna be there, right? You better be," he added enthusiastically, "I'll see you, then. Oh, and in case I forgot to say it, I've got a biiig surprise for you, baby!"

I glared at the answering machine_. 'Baby?' _

Dennis, the Psychologist. Dennis, the guy Greg had been sleeping with on and off before deciding he wanted to be with me. Dennis, one of the ex-boyfriends who keep calling… Dennis, the _Psychologist_.

I've mistrusted Psychologists since I was a kid (and that's a sad story that I avoid getting into, even in my mind); therefore, I mistrust Dennis. Am I being unreasonable? Sure; he's always been nice to me, after all; he even encouraged me to give Greg a chance. But he's a Psychologist, he's an _ex-lover_ who acted as if he was 'letting me' have Greg… And now he had a _biiiig surprise_.

I blinked my eyes open and frowned. I was holding Greg tightly, as if I was afraid someone might take him away from me.

* * *

After breakfast, Greg listened to his messages. It was my turn to wash dishes, but I kept glancing at him, trying to gauge the impact that each message had on him. Predictably, Dennis' message was the one that got him to react; he immediately picked up his phone.

"It's nine thirty, Grissom." He said while he dialed, "Aren't you going to the Body Farm?"

I was, but after hearing that exultant, "It's a biiiiiig surprise!" from the Psychologist, I thought I'd stay around a bit longer.

"I'll go in the afternoon." I said, "I thought I'd stay here and-" _and, what?_ "-and fix the sink." I said. It wasn't a complete lie; I'd actually been meaning to do that for weeks and I'd even brought some tools from my place.

"Thanks. Hey," He stopped dialing, "Could you do me a favor? Dennis is coming by at ten; would you let him in? I promised to bathe Mrs. Cardona's dog today and it might take me a while."

Reassured by my promise to stay and work in the kitchen, he changed into old jeans and a t-shirt and left.

Great. I had Dennis all to myself.

He was clearly disappointed to see me there.

"Greg's bathing Mrs. Cardona's dog Rufus-" I explained as he followed me into the kitchen.

"Why is he doing that?" he asked morosely.

"Mrs. Cardona lives alone," I said, "Greg likes to help." I glanced at him, "Take a seat. It'll take him a while; Rufus is a big Doberman."

He reluctantly sat and I crawled back under the sink.

"You're doing the plumbing now?"

"I've been doing it for months," I retorted.

He snorted, but didn't comment.

He was silent for about ten minutes.

"You know…" he said suddenly, "I underestimated you."

"Did you?" I grunted. I was in a very uncomfortable position; I had contorted my body until it resembled a pretzel in order to reach the section that was leaking. I carefully removed the pipe and blindly reached around for the brand new part.

"I didn't think you'd last more than a couple of weeks." He said.

Whoa.

"Really?" I asked calmly, "Funny." I added after a pause. "I thought you wanted me to succeed."

"I was only playing the part of the 'understanding friend,' Gil." He admitted. "I was actually counting on you to screw up."

I didn't say anything.

"I was sure you would, you know?" he said, "I was sure that in a couple of weeks I would step back into the picture, and play the part of 'rebound boyfriend'"

"You must be pissed, then."

"It's ok." He said quietly, "I'm a patient man. Besides, you're bound to screw up sooner or later."

He paused, "After all…" he said, "How long can this last, Gil? One of these days Greg will start to get bored, you know that. One of these days he'll realize that he wants someone younger and more adventurous. Someone who isn't afraid to play games, or afraid of _going to a party_," he said pointedly. "_You_ are afraid, aren't you?" he paused, "And the worst part is that you can't tell him why you avoid going with him. _I_ understand. I could even explain it to him, you know? Tell him that meeting his friends isn't easy for you. Sure, they've all been nice to you so far, but deep down you keep wondering, '_What do they really think of me?_' Or you wonder, '_How long before any of these young guys and girls steal him away from me?_'

"And I'm sure there are other thoughts at the back of your mind." He said, "For instance, don't you ever wonder if your behavior is, shall we say, sleazy? I mean, you're so much older than him…You really must feel like you're living on borrowed time, Gil." he paused, letting me muse on these words.

I closed my eyes for a moment. It's one thing to be privately tormented by a recurring fear, and it's quite another to have someone else verbalize it so brutally.

"And yet," Dennis added, "It's not those boys and girls who will ruin this relationship, Gil." he said. "And it won't be me, either."

I was having trouble screwing the new pipe; my hands were greasy and sweaty and I couldn't get a hold of it. My back was killing me, but I was actually glad. By concentrating on that pain I was able to hear the rest of his speech without reacting.

"It will be _you, _Gil." he said. After a moment, he added, "You're your own worst enemy. You're not really capable of emotional involvement. You go through life as a spectator. You watch, you take notes, you solve people's puzzles… you solve crimes… but everything you do stays in the surface. There's a wall that you raised a long time ago and no one can go through or over… not even you. All these months you've been hoping he won't notice this, right? But how long before he does?"

I grunted when I finally screwed the new pipe in. I took several deep breaths and then I slowly crawled out.

I rose –quickly, pretending that my back didn't hurt like hell- and looked at him.

"Well, Dennis," I said, "If that's a sample of your therapy techniques, then all I can say is that your patients are screwed."

"You're not my patient." He said quietly, "But if you were, I'd ask you if your feelings for him aren't a bit… fatherly." He said venomously. "I mean, look at that," he said, eyeing a bowl of fresh fruit on the counter. "He never eats fresh fruit. But now you're taking care of him, aren't you? Like a concerned father."

Before I could reply, there was the sound of the front door opening and closing.

Greg came into the kitchen and smiled widely.

"Hey, Dennis."

"Hey, Greg." He said, going to Greg and kissing him on the cheek.

I frowned. I hadn't noticed they greeted each other like this.

Oh, but of course…Not only was I rarely present when Greg's friends came to visit, I never went to their parties.

"So," Greg smiled good-naturedly, "what's the surprise?"

"Well, do you remember that last year we were going to LA-"

"On August?" Greg interrupted.

"Yeah," Dennis nodded, "for that game that-"

"_The_ game!"

"Exactly," Dennis nodded, "But you couldn't find anyone to take over the lab-"

"And you had to handle that crisis at the shelter-"

Oh, for God's sake! Did they always talk like this, finishing each other's sentences?

"Well…" Dennis paused in anticipation, "this time I have…" he paused again as he looked for something in his breast pocket, "TWO TICKETS FOR THE BIG BASQUETBALL GAME ON FRIDAY!"

Yeah, he shouted the words. And Greg was impressed.

"Whoa, this is great-"

"We'll have the best seats, Greg; we'll be on the front row-" he explained.

I stared at them as they made plans for Friday, but I wasn't listening. I was still hearing the words he'd said earlier. The worst part was that he had been so damn accurate, I couldn't be angry with him. I was angry at myself for thinking that I could pull this off.

Me, in a relationship. Yeah, right.

"I was going to get an extra ticket for Gil-" Dennis said without looking at me. "But I figured he'd be working-" he finished.

That was a blatant lie, but uttered with such sincerity that I would have believed it if we hadn't had that little talk before.

I looked at them. They looked quite good together, and that made me feel worse.

Maybe this was the beginning of the end.

I looked away, and my gaze fell on the bowl of fruit he'd mentioned earlier.

I smiled. I didn't buy the fruit; Greg did. He likes taking care of me.

I suddenly decided not to make things easy for Dennis.

"Actually, I'm free on Friday night." I said, and waited for their reaction.

Both turned to me.

"Really?" asked Greg.

"You are?" asked Dennis.

"Yep," I nodded.

"You won't be working on Friday?" asked Greg.

"I have the night off." I said calmly.

Greg gaped.

"You didn't tell me." He said.

Of course I didn't. It wasn't true.

Dennis recovered quickly.

"I can get you a ticket of course," he said, playing the role of 'understanding friend' again. "It wouldn't be on first row, but-"

"Why, thank you, Dennis," I said, "But I already have plans." I glanced at Greg, "I thought we could go out."

Greg opened his mouth but Dennis spoke first.

"I'm afraid you'll have to change your plans, Gil-"

"I don't think so."

"You can go out some other time." Dennis insisted. "If you made a reservation, you can change the date." He paused, "What restaurant did you chose?"

Ha. Dennis was trying –very clumsily- to make me reveal my plans. No way was I going to tell. There was nothing to tell, anyway.

"It's a surprise," I said calmly.

Dennis was staring at me as if my skull was made of glass and he could read my thoughts –like a psychologist, in short- but I didn't cave in.

"You'll have to change your plans," he said.

"No."

"This is an important game, Gil." he argued, "A once-in-a-lifetime chance to see these great players-

I've seen once-in-a-lifetime _baseball_ games. Basketball just doesn't rate as high in my opinion.

"There's a once-in-a-lifetime-game every year-" I dismissed.

"Not like this," Dennis insisted, "Several players will retire after this game-"

"We can watch it on TV later." I shrugged calmly.

"Maybe Greg would rather see it live."

"Maybe he'll like my plans better."

Greg was following our conversation the way one watches a tennis match. Right, left, right, left.

"Look, Gil," Dennis said, "I'm sure Greg would rather see the game than go to yet another restaurant-"

"He's seen enough games this past year-"

"Maybe we should ask him-"

"Yeah, maybe-"

"All right, that's enough!" Greg said sternly and we both turned to look at him.

For a moment I thought he was going to say, 'time out'! But he didn't. He turned to his friend.

"Dennis, thanks for the tickets; I really wanted to see that game-"

Oh, crap. This _was_ the beginning of the end-

"-but Grissom has the night off," Greg added, handing him back the tickets. "And that's almost a once-in-a-lifetime event, so-"

I looked at Dennis, barely repressing the urge to stick my tongue out and cry 'nya, nya, nya, nya!'

Dennis looked crushed but not defeated.

"But Greg…I thought-"

"I know." He said gently, "Thanks, man. Maybe some other time."

Greg walked his friend to the door, while I washed my hands.

"Ha. I won." I muttered, smugly.

"What was that?" Greg asked when he returned.

"What was what?" I asked innocently.

He scoffed.

"You two were acting like kids-"

"No we weren't," I frowned. "We were only-"

"-having a pissing contest." He finished dryly. "I'm surprised you didn't take out your dicks to brag over whose was bigger." He scowled.

"Well-"

"And _you_ wouldn't have won." he said firmly.

Ouch.

We stared at each other. He grinned.

"_I _would have won." He said.

I narrowed my eyes, pretending to be offended… but I was not.

"Yes," I conceded, "You're absolutely right."

Greg reached out and rubbed my cheek.

"But you're a close second, baby." He said.

I smiled and leant my face into his hand.

"So," he said, "These plans of yours… why didn't you tell me?"

Oh, crap. I'd forgotten all about it.

"Oh, well." I shrugged, "It was a surprise."

"It _is_ a surprise." He noted, "I never thought you'd want to celebrate Valentine's Day. Now I feel bad for not making any plans of my own."

"It's ok." I said magnanimously.

"So," he smiled, "where are we going?"

"Well, hum," I couldn't come up with a convincing lie this time. "It's a surprise," I said lamely.

"Ok." He nodded good-naturedly. "Hey, are you staying? We can watch the Discovery Channel-"

I nodded distractedly.

I needed to make some plans, and fast.

TBC after Easter…


	7. V Day: Gil's home

DILEMMA

Mention of characters from 'Jane Eyre' by Charlotte Bronte and 'Psycho' by Robert Bloch.

Songs: 'Have I told you' (sung by Rod Stewart) and 'You made me so very happy' (by the Union Gap)

* * *

I apologized to Dr. Stevens for missing my appointment at the body farm, but he was still pissed. He had set a body apart for my study and I had been taking weekly notes on its 'progress'. By missing one day, I was seriously compromising the study.

"What's so important that you can't come, Gil? Don't tell me you're with some chick celebrating St. Valentine's Day-"

"I'm not." I said truthfully.

"Good." He said dryly. "I'm sick of this holiday, Gil. Most of my volunteers are rescheduling their assignments for next week in order to celebrate that damn day! You'd think that after seeing what lovers do to each other, they'd be more discouraged, huh? What about you? What excuse do you have?"

"I can come on over later." I said evasively. "Four o'clock?"

It was a half-hearted offer but he accepted it.

And all along I was aware of Greg's gaze on me.

The euphoria I'd felt at beating Dennis, didn't last much. His words were still very present in my mind, and every time I glanced at Greg, I was reminded of something else that I had to deal with: That conversation we had at the donut place. I'd tried to ignore it but it was at the back of my mind, and I guess it was at the back of his mind too: I saw it in his eyes -something was still bothering him, but he wouldn't say what.

Still, I was glad I'd stayed; it gave us a chance to do quiet, domestic things like cooking lunch and eating in front of the TV, and taking a nap in his bed.

When I woke up, I was lying on my side and he was behind me, his arm loosely wrapped around my waist. I smiled to myself. I like it when he spoons me in bed, but it took me quite a while to get used to it. It used to make me feel vulnerable and I hated feeling his breath on my neck, but now having him so close was reassuring.

There's only one thing I like more, when we're lying like this: Watching him.

So, that Sunday afternoon I turned until we were face to face. His eyes were closed, but he was smiling faintly. He wasn't asleep, but he wanted to be lazy. Hey, that was fine by me.

We spent the next couple of minutes in silence, touching each other very lightly - little caresses that were not meant to arouse- he touched my chin and my cheek, while I caressed one of his wrists, feeling the steady beat of the blood in his veins. I found it soothing.

I was usually satisfied with our non-verbal communication; but it had been an unusual day, and there was something bothering me.

"I didn't know you liked basketball." I said.

"Mmmmh." He barely acknowledged my words.

"Do you?"

"Not particularly." he mumbled after a while.

I thought about that for a moment.

"So… you didn't want to watch that game on Friday?"

"Mmmh, no; not really."

"But you acted as if you were looking forward to it-"

"Yeah." Greg mumbled, "Poor Dennis." He said as an afterthought.

"Poor Dennis?" I repeated. After our conversation, I didn't feel charitable towards Dennis the Psychologist.

Greg opened his eyes at last.

"He doesn't have many friends." he mumbled.

"So you were only acting like a pal?"

"Uh, huh," he nodded, and then he yawned.

I mused on these words for a moment.

"What about baseball?" I asked.

"Mmmh? What about it?" he asked.

We had gone to several baseball games together and he'd always said he'd had a god time; now I was wondering whether he'd been honest.

"Do you like baseball?" I insisted.

"Baseball is ok."

"But do you like it?"

"I guess," He said, closing his eyes again. "Sports are ok," he said dismissively, "I just don't share some people's passion for them."

Crap. And here I thought he really liked going to those games!

"So," I said, "All those times you came with me to a baseball game, you were only trying to be a pal?"

Maybe it was unfair of me to ask that. He had never acted like baseball was the greatest spectacle on earth, after all; he had never ooohed and aaahed the way he did with Dennis and his basketball tickets.

Greg looked at me.

"I like those games," he said, "I like to watch you."

"To watch _me_?"

"Yeah." He nodded. "I like to see you watching the game. It's about the only time I see you lose all your inhibitions-"

_What?_

"My inhibitions-" I repeated, and I raised myself on one arm, "_My inhibitions_?" I asked indignantly, "Hey, I've let you-" I started to protest, "We have- we've been-"

I was trying to say that I wasn't inhibited, but I was failing miserably; I couldn't even _mention_ the things I'd done with him.

"Hey, it's not what you think." He said quickly, "I'm not saying that you're sexually repressed, Grissom! That's not what I meant, baby. On the contrary; you're very giving." he added, and paused until I was mollified. Then he grinned smugly, "But of course, it's hard to be repressed when you're with me, huh?"

"Yeah." I admitted reluctantly, "But you said _inhibitions_-"

"Yes, but I was talking about the way you act when you're at work, or anywhere else." he explained, "You're self-contained, and in control of your emotions all the time. You have to be, I guess," he added as an afterthought.

"Greg-"

"Hey, I understand," he said before I could say anything, "It's just part of who you are. It _is_ frustrating sometimes." he admitted, "But when you watch those baseball games…" he smiled wistfully, "You just- _explode. _You scream; your feelings are out there and your face showcases every emotion – frustration, anger, joy, euphoria, expectation… I like that. You love the game and I enjoy the show, baby."

He punctuated that last phrase with a kiss on my nose.

One kiss and I stopped asking any more questions. It was getting late, and what little time we had left, we didn't want to spend it discussing Dennis or the fact that I'm repressed everywhere but in bed.

* * *

We barely saw each other over the next two days; we were swamped with work. It wasn't until Wednesday that I was able to get him to work a crime scene with me.

We were processing a room in a really cheap motel. The last occupant had been killed in a car accident, but he was a suspect in a kidnapping case; we needed to establish whether he had kept his victim in there.

We were doing the bathroom. I was carefully picking up hairs and toenails from the floor when he spoke.

"Do you want me to rent a tuxedo?"

I looked at him. He was taking samples of what looked like blood spatter on the wall, (the bathroom was so filthy, it could have been mere grime.) He wasn't looking at me, and for a moment I wondered if he had spoken at all.

"Why would you need a tuxedo?" I asked.

"You know, for the big night."

Oh.

Oh, yeah. Friday night. The night I was supposed to have plans for.

And here I thought he had forgotten all about it.

"No," I said, returning to my task, "you won't need a tuxedo."

"Oh. Do you want me to wear my Armany suit then?"

I paused. I like that suit. He looks seriously handsome in it.

"You won't need a suit." I said, somewhat regretfully.

"Oh, it'll be casual attire, then?" he asked, "Cool." After a pause, he asked, "How casual will it be?"

"Greg, don't worry about the clothes."

"Hey, I like to be prepared. If we're going to some restaurant-"

"We're not going to a restaurant."

"Oh. Ok." He said good-naturedly, "So… do I have to pack anything?"

"No."

"You said we were going out." He reminded me; "If we're not going to a restaurant and I don't have to pack clothes…" he looked up, "Hey!" he grinned, "Are we going to a nude beach?"

I didn't even answer this time and he chuckled.

"Ok, no nude beach, then." He said. And suddenly he got serious again, "It's blood, Grissom." He said, "Human blood."

"It might not be related to our case." I pointed out

"I know." he looked around, "This place looks like it hasn't been cleaned in months. Hey, either way, we've got us a crime scene. Unless someone shaved a little too close and bled all over-" He added humorously.

I labeled my evidence.

"Let's go."

"Hey," he said before I opened the door, "If we're staying home, I can whip up some dessert."

I gave him a skeptical look and he chuckled.

"All right, all right. I can _buy_ dessert. Strawberry cheesecake? Or some Loving Bear donuts?"

"It's all taken care of, Greg," I said patiently, but making a mental note to get dessert.

I still wasn't sure about my plans for the 'big night', but at least I had the night off. I'd told Warrick a convoluted story about needing Friday off, and he had taken pity on me.

"Sure, Griss." He said with a knowing smile that bothered me. He acted as if he knew what I needed the night off for.

* * *

On Friday night I picked up my cell phone and took a couple of deep breaths. I was going to do something I'd never done before and I was nervous. I'd chosen not to go to a restaurant because I still couldn't be that open about our relationship, yet I knew that going to a restaurant would have been easier than doing it all by myself.

_This is it_, I thought. _After tonight, things will have changed one way or the other_.

I was still in my office when I called Greg.

"I'll pick you up in half an hour," I said and hung up before he could ask anything.

He had been pestering me with questions about our night off. He wanted to know about this place we were going to, and the food, and the clothing; when I didn't answer, he questioned my decision to pick him up instead of letting him drive on his own. I was glad Friday night had come, if only because the questioning would cease.

He was waiting for me on the sidewalk, in front of his building. He was wearing jeans and a sweatshirt, just as I had suggested.

"Here," he said, handing me a square package wrapped in red paper. "This is for ya. Don't open it 'til Monday, ok?"

My first impulse was to say something like 'you didn't have to do tht', but I didn't. I said 'thank you' and forced myself to take the gift. I'm still learning to accept gifts from him. I mean, he gave me things from the beginning, but now he doesn't have to lie to get me to accept them.

He smiled when he noticed that I was discreetly patting the box, trying to find out what it was.

"So, where are we going?" he asked.

"I'm not telling you yet." I answered, putting the gift on the back seat.

"Let's go, then."

"Ok, but first…" I took something out of my pocket. I held up a strip of black satin and asked him to turn around. "I have to blindfold you."

He froze.

"Is this for real?" he was stunned.

"Yeah, why?"

"_You_ are playing games, Grissom?"

"Just turn around," I insisted brusquely, but he didn't move. "What? Don't tell me you've never worn one of these, Greg; I took it from your damn toy box."

He obediently turned, but he kept moving, making it difficult for me to cover his eyes.

"Hey, babe? You're not into bondage, are you?" he asked.

I snorted but didn't say anything.

"I mean," He continued, "It's ok, if you are- I'd just like to get a little warning before you do something like this-"

"I'm not into bondage, Greg," I said dryly.

"Well, I'm still not reassured." He muttered.

"Hey, don't you trust me?"

"I trust you with my eyes wide open, Grissom." He said, "Besides, what if you want to be a dominant? That could be a problem, you know? I'm not cut out to be a submissive, Grissom." He said firmly, "And we can't both be dominants; that's not how it works-"

Sometimes I really don't know whether he's being serious or not.

"It'll take me an hour to get there, so please sit quietly." I said after I finished covering his eyes.

Then, as quietly as I could, I got my gift back and started unwrapping it. He immediately noticed the rustling sounds.

"What's that? You're cheating!" he protested, blindly reaching out for the box.

"Mmmmmh, chocolates-" I teased, keeping the box out of his reach, "Yum." I added, choosing a big fat truffle.

"I told you to wait until Monday!" he said morosely. "You should have waited-"

I shushed him with a kiss and half a truffle.

* * *

It actually took me less than an hour to get 'there' but I kept driving past. I drove around the same block about six times until I finally decided to just go ahead and enter the garage.

"Where are we?" he asked when I finally stopped.

"You'll see." I said. I helped him out of the car, guided him through the garage and down a hallway. I opened a door and closed it behind us.

At last, I took the blindfold off him.

"Here we are."

He blinked and his expression fell.

Uh, oh. Using the blindfold had been a mistake. It had only built up his expectations until he must have thought I was taking him somewhere- well, somewhere different, I guess; noisier, maybe.

His initial reaction was one of disappointment that was quickly replaced by puzzlement.

"Where are we?"

I hesitated for a couple of seconds.

"It's a friend's house." I said.

We were in the backyard, a large paved area that was mostly in the dark, except for a circle that I'd chosen for our celebration. I'd hung several strings of festive lights over there; I'd installed a grill, a couple of large, flat rocks to sit on, and also a fiberglass waterfall, one of those little monsters that are supposed to create an aura of relaxation but only make you fret about the waste of water.

Greg looked at this only briefly; he was more interested in the two-story building behind me. It was in the dark, but maybe that's what made him more curious.

"Is that your friend's house?" he asked. I silently nodded.

After a moment, he looked back at the area that I had selected for dinner.

"What's with the wall?" he asked.

Ah, I should have known that a curious guy like him would insist on looking beyond the area that was under my control. He was staring at the high wall complete with razor wire that made this innocent yard look like a prison. It did look sinister under the moonlight.

"Oh." I hesitated, "It's nothing. My friend's neighbors weren't happy with his pet collection and he had to put that wall up-"

"Pet collection?"

"Yeah. Hey," I said, changing the subject, "want to help me with this cooler?"

"Sure," he said good-naturedly, "Hey, there's a fountain over there." He said at last, "Cool." He put the cooler near the grill. "So, a camping trip in the middle of the city, huh? I mean, I _assume_ we're still in the middle of the city."

"We are," I nodded. "We didn't have enough time to go to a real park, so-"

"So we ended up at your friend's patio." He finished. He looked at me, "So, who is this friend?"

"It's-" I cleared my throat, "It's, hum, Dr. Stevens."

He nodded thoughtfully.

"The guy from the Body Farm." He said.

"Yeah."

"Now _that's_ a good friend," he commented. "He's letting you use his home for a romantic weekend." He said, looking closely at me, "Unless he doesn't know."

"Hum. No." I said, "I mean, he does, but-" Oh, for crying out loud, why didn't I anticipate these questions? Of course, he was bound to be curious! And why couldn't I lie more quickly, at least? "I'm, hum, house sitting, and-"

Yeah, I'm pathetic, sometimes.

And yet, Greg didn't say he didn't believe me; he merely stared at me.

"And he lives alone, huh?"

"Yes." I nodded.

"With his pet collection," he added, in case I'd forgotten.

"Uh, huh."

He frowned, "What I don't understand is why I had to wear the blindfold."

"Well-"

"I mean," He said, looking around, "I thought we were going to play some sex games-"

"Sorry."

"Nah, it's ok." He said, generously, "Hey, at least we have privacy."

He wasn't too thrilled, but I was sure he was going to like the food. I had taken some of his favorite dishes and adapted them for the occasion -sausages, barbecued chicken, vegetable kabobs, corn tortillas, corn on the cob, a couple of slices of strawberry cheesecake, and a pot of his favorite coffee.

He explored the grounds while I cooked.

He kept walking in and out of the ring of light I had provided, making it difficult for me to keep an eye on him.

"There's a patch covered with gravel here," he said at one point. "Do you know what it's for?"

"It's for the pets, I think."

"Well, this is peaceful, Grissom." He said when he finished his exploration, "Just a bit too quiet if you ask me." He sat on one of the rocks, but he grew restless again. "Do you need any help with that?"

"No. Sit down and relax." I said, "If you want music, there's a CD player and some discs over there."

"Not Pink Floyd, I hope," he said as he peered at the boxes.

I smiled to myself. Those were _his_ records. I was trying to keep him happy.

"Keep it down, Ok?" I asked, "The neighbors are a bit touchy."

Later, Greg opened a couple of beers while I heaped food on a couple of plates. I handed him a plate and he handed me a bottle.

"Mmmmh, sausages." He said appreciatively, "Just don't blame me if I fart later, ok?"

"It's ok." I shrugged, "We're going to spend the night in the open."

He was carefully folding a tortilla so the filling –sausages, salsa, lettuce, and slices of avocado- didn't spill out, but my words made him pause.

"In the open?"

"Yeah," I gestured to the tent. "I have a couple of sleeping bags in there."

"A couple of-" he frowned, "You mean we're not sharing?"

"Uh- no."

"Geeze, Grissom." He said, shaking his head in disappointment, "You really haven't grasped the meaning of the words 'romantic evening', have you? We're not supposed to sleep apart on a night like this." He said, "We're supposed to eat, slow-dance, and go to bed together."

"I don't dance." I frowned.

"Ha, don't I know it." He muttered before taking a big bite of his tortilla. "What, no butter?" he scowled after a moment.

"Butter?"

"For the corn, Grissom. Shit," he muttered, "I knew we shouldn't have told you about my father."

It was mama Asty who did. She told me that Andrew Sanders had died of a heart attack when Greg was only a toddler. "Up 'til then we didn't even know what cholesterol was, but my son-in-law's family had a history of heart trouble." She said as she showed me pictures of Greg's dad. "My daughter had to go back to work, while we took care of the children."

It was a moving story, but I was more overwhelmed by the fact that Greg looked so much like his dad.

It was a wake up call for me and from then on I'd been trying to monitor his cholesterol intake. That meant serving him turkey instead of pork sausages, and corn on the cob with no butter. Maybe he was right when he said that I was being unreasonable, but I just didn't want him to drop dead at 35.

"Give me that," I said. "The best way to eat corn on the cob is by rubbing a little salt and lemon juice on it," I said, doing just that, "Try it now."

He reluctantly munched on it.

"Hey, this is tasty." He said admiringly.

I was pleased by his reaction.

"We used to eat them like this in Guatemala." I said, "Sometimes it was the only food we'd trust. We were so paranoid-"

"Hey, you were in Guatemala? When?"

I hesitated. I hadn't planned on mentioning this to him –or to anybody.

"Years ago." I said.

"Were you there on vacation?"

"No. There was a forensic investigation going on and I volunteered for a month." Greg leant forward, turning his whole attention to me. I reluctantly told him the rest. "Amnesty International was investigating the massacres committed by the military in the early eighties."

"And why were you paranoid?" he looked expectantly at me.

"Because we were working in really isolated areas, with no protection," I said, "The civilian government had promised its cooperation, but up there in the mountains, the military were still in charge; they made it clear they would let us work as long as we didn't use any evidence against them." As I spoke, I realized this was something that still bothered me, "The work was heartbreaking," I added, "Survivors of the massacres would sometimes identify family members from the bits of clothing that remained on the bodies. Teenagers identified their fathers' belts, old women recognized the clothing they'd sewn for their kids, and-" I stopped abruptly. "And this is not the kind of conversation one has during a romantic dinner,' is it?" I asked sheepishly, "Sorry."

"Hey, it's ok." He said quickly, "I don't mind. I think this is the first time you've told me anything about your past-"

"Is it?" I frowned. "Well… if you want to know anything about me, all you have to do is check out the files."

It was a stupid suggestion, and the incredulous look he gave me told me exactly what he thought of it.

We stared at each other, and just when I thought he was going to say something –something probably devastating for me- he looked down and continued eating.

I suddenly realized that he always did that. He did or said something that made me pause, but instead of pursuing it, he backed off. I'd always been grateful to him for doing that, but not that night. I'd been acting selfishly all along and maybe it was time for me to stop doing that.

'This is it' had been the words at the back of my mind all day. We'd have to talk sooner or later.

It took me a while to approach the matter, though. It wasn't until we were eating the cheesecake that I said anything.

"Are you disappointed, Greg?"

"Disappointed?"

"That I brought you here, instead of taking you to a game or a restaurant?"

"Oh, man-" he sighed, "I reacted badly, didn't I? Sorry," he said, "Look, I have really bad memories from the camping trips I went to when I was a kid." he shook his head, "Seeing this tent brought it all back to me. But I like this." He said reassuringly, "I like the food and the music." He added meaningfully.

"I'm glad." I said, picking up the coffee pot. But instead of pouring myself a cup like I'd intended, I paused and looked at him. He was doing it again, wasn't he? He was being a 'pal', saying something nice just to make me feel better.

Well, we couldn't go on like this. I put the pot back on the ground.

"So, Greg," I said slowly, "Will you tell me what this thing that I wouldn't understand is?"

He stopped chewing for a moment.

"I'd like to know." I said as sincerely as I could.

"Grissom-" he started, "It was nothing-"

"You've got to tell me," I said. And then I grinned, "I've been good to you all night," I said, "I got you sausages and cheesecake -"

He looked at me.

"Cholesterol-free sausages and cheesecake," he said slowly, "Just like the donuts from 'Loving Bear', right?" He smiled faintly, "See? That's why I don't wanna talk about this. You take care of me, Grissom." he said, "I don't want to sound like an ungrateful SOB-"

"You won't," I said reassuringly, "Go ahead. Tell me."

Greg carefully put down his empty plate on the floor.

"Look, I was pissed that night, ok? My friends had been asking me to go to their parties, I wanted you to come with me, and I knew you were going to say no-"

"You know I rarely go to any parties, Greg."

"It's not the parties, Grissom." he said. He looked down, "It's just- sometimes I have the feeling that you'd rather be anywhere but with me. No matter what we do, I think deep down you'd rather be home reading a book." He looked up, but he avoided me all the same; he was staring at the two-story building behind me. "And you have hundreds of books, Grissom. That's hard to compete against."

I didn't react to his words until I belatedly realized that I'd stopped breathing.

I exhaled.

And then I got angry.

"Wow." I said coldly, "So, according to you, I'd rather stay home and have sex with my encyclopedias?"

"Oh, come on," he snorted, "that's not what I meant-"

"I don't think anyone could use a Thesaurus as a sexual aid, but hey, you're the one who knows all about sex toys-"

"Ah, forget it," he muttered, "I knew you wouldn't get it."

"Hey, I'm trying, Greg." I said, "But it's hard to understand why a book would hold such a threat-"

"I know," he mumbled.

"Besides, when I'm home, I'm always _alone_," I argued, "_I _don't have a dozen _friends _and_ ex-lovers_ dropping by or calling me up, offering to get me a date-"

"How do I know that?" he asked calmly.

"What?"

"How do I know you're alone? I've never been in your house."

Oh, so _that_ was the problem. Crap. He'd never been inside my place, except for that one time, months ago. And he'd been drunk, so it didn't really count-

"Look," he said, "You have a hundred interests." He started. "Those books, the Body Farm, your bugs…"

"You have a hundred interests too." I interrupted.

"It's different-"

"It's not-" I argued.

"Look," he interrupted, "The truth is… I need _you_ more than you need _me_." He said quietly, "I believe that every time you go home and close the door, you make the rest of us disappear. You don't need anyone - at least, there's a huge part of you that doesn't, Grissom. It's a part that craves silence and solitude." he added, "I mean, you can turn away any time you want-"

"So can you." I interrupted.

"But I don't want to." He said, "You're a part of my family now, and you're a part of my home. You're even a part of my friends' lives-" he scoffed, "They're always asking me about you, you know? It pisses me off, because most of the time I don't know what to tell them. They ask me about your home and your books, and about your butterfly collection. And my female friends-" he rolled his eyes, "They're half in love with you, for God's sake. They keep asking me if you were ever married-"

"I've never been married." I frowned. "You know that."

"Yes," he nodded, "But on the other hand, I don't; not really," he added. "Who knows; maybe you have a wife hidden in the attic or in the basement-"

I gaped again and he reddened.

"I watched Jane Eyre and Psycho the other day," he explained sheepishly.

I guiltily remembered that I'd watched the same movies at my place. I could have stayed and watched them with him, but I'd told him I had something else to do.

Anger overrode guilt.

"Greg?" I asked incredulously, "Do you believe I have a mad Mrs. Grissom in the attic or a mummified one in the basement?"

"No," he muttered reluctantly.

He looked like he was really sorry he'd said what he said.

"Look -" he started but I interrupted him.

"So, what you're saying is that I don't share things with you, and that you don't know me."

And how could he? As Dennis had said, there was a wall around me - it protected me but it kept others out.

We stared at each other for a moment, and then –as always- he backed off. He cleared his throat.

"Is it ok if I pee out there in the woods?"

I had some difficulty letting go of my anger but I made the effort.

"There's a bathroom." I said, pointing to a spot behind me.

I didn't turn as he walked away.

I took a deep breath.

Now that I was alone, I looked around. It was a beautiful night; quiet and starry; just right for a romantic celebration. It was a pity that I'd messed things up.

"Hey, Grissom?" he said when he came back, "There's a weird zoom coming from somewhere in the house-"

"Yes." I nodded, "It's the pets. They sleep next door."

"What does this guy keep, bees?"

"Giant cockroaches." I said.

"Whoa, can I see them?"

"Tomorrow."

_Tomorrow,_ I thought, _if you're still here_.

"So, Grissom," he said, sitting on the floor this time, "Are we going to sing Kumbaya?"

He was smiling again, but now I knew what was hidden behind that smile –fear.

"No," I said calmly, "But we need some exercise. We're going to climb a mountain."

It wasn't a mountain, but a spiral staircase at the back of the house.

"What are we doing here?" he asked as we got to the roof.

"We're going in there," I said, gesturing to a little room in the corner. And then I couldn't help adding, "It's time to feed the pets, Greg."

"Really? What do you feed them?"

"Human flesh." I said calmly.

He stopped on his tracks. When he turned I almost laughed. His expression was priceless.

"Human-" he gulped.

"Uh, huh." I said as unemotionally as I could, "Think about it, Greg." I paused, "_Nobody_ knows you're here."

He gaped at me. We stared at each other and I kept a straight face for as long as I could.

"Shit, Greg." I scoffed at last, "I'm only joking!"

"Ah, you're a bastard-" he said breathlessly. "Hey, laugh it up, bugboy," he added when he saw me smirk, "I'll have my revenge-"

Seeing him so relieved pissed me off.

"Did you really believe I was going to harm you?"

"No." he said quickly, "But…"

"But you don't know me." I finished for him.

We stared at each other in silence.

It looked like our romantic night was going to end in disaster, but he backed off yet again.

"So, what are we doing here?" he repeated.

I motioned him to follow me into the little room; it didn't have a roof yet, and we had a beautiful patch of stars on top of us. At least this part of the night would go well: I had installed a telescope in the middle of the room.

He was pleasantly surprised.

"Whoa, Grissom," he said, "A huge phallic-like artifact pointing up?" he grinned, "Are you trying to put ideas in my head?"

"Yeah," I replied dryly, "Star gazing."

We were supposed to take turns looking up at the stars, but he was so full of enthusiasm that I let him monopolize the telescope. I was content with leaning against a wall and watching him.

I looked at him and started to think of all the things that had happened since he'd entered my life. He had turned it upside down in only a year. This guy was my lover, but he was also my best friend. My forgiving best friend. My forgiving, patient, loving, best friend-

I was going to lose him one of these days, just as Dennis had predicted, unless…

I took a deep breath. _This is it..._

"Hey, Greg?" I called out, "I love you."

He glanced at me.

"I know, Grissom." He said good-naturedly.

"No, you don't." I said softly. "You have no idea-"

He must have realized I was serious. He slowly turned his full attention to me.

"You don't realize what you've done to me, do you?" I asked. "I've lived alone for most of my life." I said, "I got used to being secretive," I admitted, "There are huge parts of my life that I've kept under wraps for so long that I can't even think about them, much less _talk_ about them." I confessed, "I've kept people away from me because it's so much easier- And yet, somehow I couldn't keep you away." I shook my head, "I let you take over my body, and that was difficult enough, but… the idea of letting you inside my home, my privacy… It's hard for me, Greg. It's not that I don't trust you," I said quickly, because by his expression alone I could see that's exactly what he thought; "It's just that… My home is the home of the man I was before all this happened, and- I don't know if I want you to see it." I admitted. "But you have to know that whoever I was… or whoever I am when I close the door… it's not who I am when I'm with you. I _like_ this person that I become whenever you're around."

"Do you?"

"Yeah." I nodded ruefully, "Even when I do silly things like getting jealous every time your friends call-"

"You get jealous?" he smiled widely.

"Oh, yeah," I admitted sheepishly. "Sometimes I want to smash that damn answering machine against the wall-"

"Oh, man," he snorted, "you've been suffering a lot, then. But why didn't you say anything?"

"Because," I sighed, "I want you to keep seeing your friends. I don't want your world to shrink around us, Greg. Having friends and outside interests will help you keep your sanity. Otherwise, your life will only consist of me and the lab."

"Oh, man, don't you see? I also need _you_ to keep my sanity." He said, "C'mere," he said, pulling me for a bear hug.

"You're not doing this just to make me feel better, are you?" I asked, letting him hold me.

"Hell, no." he scoffed, "I'm going to make you pay for your sins."

I smiled and wrapped my arms around him.

"All right." I said, accepting my fate. We stood like that for a while, just holding each other. Then, before I lost my nerve, I whispered, "Do you want to dance?"

"Uh? Sure." He said, "Wanna go downstairs?"

"Uh, huh." I said, "We can dance here."

I held him tight and then I did the cheesiest thing I've ever done. I sang.

I lost at love before

Got mad and closed the door

But you said, 'try just once more

Now we're having so much fun

We danced (actually, we only moved around in a slow circle) while I sang, (not always in tune). Greg was too stunned to do anything except let me move him around.

You treated me so kind, I'm about to lose my mind

You made me so very happy…I'm so glad you came into my life.

'Cause you came and you took control

You touched my very soul

You always showed me that

Loving you was where it's at

You made me so very happy

I'm so glad you're into my life-

"See what you make me do?" I asked gruffly.

"Uh, huh," he nodded, wide eyed. He was looking at me as if he hadn't seen me in a long time. Well, sure; how many times had he seen me knowingly and voluntarily make a fool of myself like this?

And the worst part was, there was another song in my mind trying to get out.

Have I told you lately that I love you?

Have I told you there's no one else above you?

Fill my heart with gladness, take away all my sadness

Ease my troubles, that's what you do…

"Sing me another!" he insisted.

"Oh, no," I said, reddening, "Those are the only love songs I know,"

"Aw, come on-" He was enjoying this; he loves to make me squirm.

I was going to say an adamant 'no', but then I thought... oh, what the hell.

"I'll sing just one more,"

"Baby, baby… I'll get down on my knees for you…"

And I did just that.

* * *

He screamed and I cringed. The neighbors were not going to be happy- But I didn't care, as long as _he _was happy.

I caught him and lowered him to the floor and held him, until he got his breath back.

"Oh, man." He whispered in my ear after a while, "I take it back, what I said earlier; this _is_ romantic."

"What, sitting in a dusty room with your pants bunched around your ankles?"

"Yep. In your arms, under the stars-" he started and then he scoffed, "God, I'm so lame. One orgasm and I get all mushy."

We sat in silence for a while.

"So, you get jealous," he muttered in my ear.

"Uh, huh."

"So, when you and Dennis were acting like kids you were actually-" his voice trailed off.

"Jealous," I admitted, "I thought it was obvious-"

"Not really. It was more like watching two wolves fighting over a piece of meat -"

We chuckled.

"Do you still love him?"

Even _I_ was surprised by the question. I had never asked that before; to me, that's the kind of question that invites trouble –or lies.

"You mean, Dennis?" he asked and I nodded. "We're friends." He said simply, "We go way back, Grissom. That doesn't mean I want to sleep with him again," he added pointedly.

"You wouldn't?" I insisted.

"Nah" he said firmly, "Being with him was just so exhausting-"

"He _exhausted_ you?" I was surprised.

He chuckled.

"I don't mean that he had more _endurance, _Grissom," he said, "What I mean is…" he hesitated, "Look, I don't think Dennis is comfortable with who he is. Maybe none of us is," he added thoughtfully, "There's always some secrecy involved in a gay relationship, right?"

"I guess," I nodded cautiously; "You and me would never be able to work together if anyone found out-"

"Yeah, but on the other hand, that doesn't mean that I can't be spontaneous and touch you when we're at the job, does it?"

I narrowed my eyes.

He had done that a couple of weeks ago, during Eckley's monthly meeting. The conference room had been filled to capacity and we had both been forced to stand up at the back. Suddenly, someone called out my name: Teri Miller.

She pushed her way though the crowd until she was standing next to me.

"Hello, Gil."

"Hello, Teri." (Greg told me later that I had used my throaty, seductive voice –whatever that is) "Long time no see."

"How've you been?" she asked.

That's when I felt Greg's hand on my butt.

"Fine," I answered with difficulty. I couldn't move away; Greg's hand was firmly wedged between me and the wall.

Teri kept talking and asking questions and all I could do was to answer in monosyllables while Greg felt me up. He was calmly staring ahead as if Eckley's speech really interested him, but his attention was on me.

I was pissed, but later we just laughed about it.

He was smiling now. He knew exactly what I was thinking.

"I promised I wouldn't do that again." He grinned.

"Good,"

"…As long as you don't flirt with her."

"I wasn't flirting-"

"Please," he rolled his eyes, "You were squirming and blushing like a school boy while she talked to you."

"That's because you were fondling me!" I protested. "I was nervous!"

"Oh." He paused, "I forgive you, then."

"Thanks," I said sarcastically, "But what does this have to do with Dennis?"

"Well… There was nothing spontaneous about his feelings, Grissom. I mean, you look at me, and that's enough to get you going. But Dennis… to him, being gay is like putting on a mask. Literally. All those leather goodies you saw in my toy box… he needed to wear them in order to get things started. By the time he was ready I just wanted to go to asleep," he rolled his eyes again.

"I thought he was a fun guy."

"He did like to go out, but he didn't believe a couple of guys could stay together, or be faithful to each other." He shrugged, "That pissed me off."

"You're better off without him, then." I said firmly.

He smiled and kissed me on the cheek. Then he playfully bit my jaw.

"Ow." I protested (not too strongly, of course)

"Do you want me to take care of you, now?" he whispered, his hand already working on my belt.

"Tomorrow, Greg." I said, caressing his cheek. I could already feel the little hairs starting to sprout on his jaw. Tomorrow it would feel rough against my skin…

_Oh, yum_, I thought.

He seemed to know what I was thinking, because he lowered his voice.

"Are you sure?" he asked huskily.

"Oh, yeah." I said, firmly pushing him at arm's length, "I don't want to go down those stairs on wobbly legs."

* * *

I took the sleeping bags and unfolded them.

"I still can't believe this." He said mournfully, "Separate beds, Grissom?"

I ignored him.

"Here," I said, handing him a toothbrush.

"This is my toothbrush!" he glanced at me, "Did you also pack my Loving Bear condoms?" he teased.

"Yeah, and your Loving Bear hemorrhoid cream too," I retorted.

"Hey, I don't have any hemorrhoid problems!" he protested.

I chuckled and followed him to the bathroom.

We brushed our teeth in silence.

I had packed his condoms indeed; and some clean clothes too.

Tonight there would be no romance –I didn't want to scandalize my neighbors- but tomorrow, it would be another story.

I smiled to myself.

Tomorrow I was going to take him inside at the crack of dawn. I still didn't know what I'd offer him first -bed or breakfast- but I was going to be ready for both.

When I started making my plans I didn't know whether I'd go through with this part –hence, the blindfold- but now I had no doubts whatsoever. I was determined to do it. I'd open up my home to him.

I'd tell him all about my pets, and how my neighbors had been so freaked out by them that I had to put up that wall. I'd also explain to him that the gravel patch at the end of the garden is the area that I use to train them for the races.

Then, I would present him with a key to my home –a key and the code to my security system.

After that I'd either take him to bed, or cook some pancakes and eggs while he brewed some coffee.

And on Sunday, I'd go with him to Robin's and face those friends of him that scare me and amuse me at the same time…

I was happy and optimistic. Our relationship had survived and _I_ had survived Valentine's Day.

I felt invincible.

Greg spat toothpaste into the sink.

"Hey, baby?" he said. "I forgot to tell you. I need you to take a couple of days off in May."

"What?" I frowned, "Why?" I asked.

"It's my family reunion." He said, "My cousins have heard all about you, and they would like you to come along."

"Family reunion?" I repeated. "Another one?"

"Yep," he smiled, "It's one of our family traditions."

He winked at me.

Uh, oh.

Here we go again.

TBC The morning after…


	8. V Day: Gil ith in throuble

DILEMMA

I love GSR, but for my GGR stories, it's WSR

I had plans to continue with this story, just not yet. However, Sane from Denmark said she wanted to know what happened next… and here it is. (Sorry it took me so long, but I've been juggling other stories too. I promise the next two chapters will be posted faster!)

Thank you for reviewing!

* * *

_Another_ family reunion? 

Greg must have noticed that I wasn't happy about it, because he quickly finished brushing his teeth and mumbled something about packing leftovers.

I stayed in the bathroom, long after I finished brushing my teeth.

Another family reunion.

It wasn't that I didn't like his family; I did. I just didn't understand why they needed to see each other so often. I mean, I rarely saw my cousins, and I didn't miss them.

But then, we Grissoms aren't known for our deep roots. For years, some uncles and aunts provided some family warmth but after they passed away, my mother and I simply met at some restaurant . There was nothing warm about those yearly meetings, though, and soon faxes and e-mails became our only source of communication.

I can't imagine Greg ever being satisfied with that

I was turning off the lights when a new thought came to me: Had Dennis ever been subjected to these family reunions too? And if he was, did he hit it off with mama Asty, the Psychiatrist? I bet he did. Maybe he even got to charm Karen.

The thought didn't cheer me up.

I was thinking how having a relationship seemed to be all hard work, when suddenly I realized there were rewards too: There, in the middle of our 'camping site', Greg had stripped down to his underwear. I hadn't noticed this when we were upstairs, but he was wearing black hip-hugging boxers and a black t-shirt; my favorites.

Aw, he had dressed up (and dressed down) for the occasion…

I was questioning my decision to sleep in separate bags and wondering how to back off without losing face, when I reminded myself of the reason why I had planned it this way: We rarely ever did anything outdoors; this would at least give us the illusion of being miles away from the city.

I thanked him for cleaning up, but didn't say a word about his clothes, or about how good he looked in them. I simply got into my bag. After a moment of hesitation, so did he.

We lay in silence for a while. The air was clean; the crickets were chirping, the fiberglass fountain was in top working condition, and the cockroaches inside were gently buzzing. Yep, it was just like being in the woods…

I glanced at him. He was staring at the sky.

"Are you comfortable?" I asked.

"Mmmh?" He blinked and looked at me, "Yeah."

I turned and put my arm under my pillow. I watched him for a moment.

"You look good under the moon light." I said.

He was speechless and I chuckled; it's not often that I get to surprise him with words or actions, but when I do, I enjoy it immensely.

"Shit, Grissom." He said, recovering at last, "Now you're overdoing the romantic part." He said dismissively. He was pleased though, and it showed. "You know…" he said after a moment, "If you want to have a little fun, I'd be more than willing to get out of this bag. I wouldn't mind sleeping on the floor-"

"No, thanks." I said, scowling, "We'd need a softer ground for that kind of fun."

"Aw, come on-" he snickered, "It's not that bad."

"Not for you," I retorted, "I'm the one who ends with a stiff back while you fall asleep on me-"

"Well, is it my fault that you're so cushiony and cuddly?"

"Good night." I said firmly, and turned my back on him.

"Fine." He retorted, "You know what? I'm going to zip this bag all the way up. Then when you get lonely and cold and need me to warm you up, I won't move a finger. You'll have to work hard to get this bag open, and then-"

I ignored the rant, but I was smiling, thinking of all the things we'd get to do the following day.

* * *

In my dream I was walking in the woods. 

I recognized the place, even though I hadn't been there in years –since I was a child, in fact. I'd forgotten how beautiful it was, how filled with living creatures -butterflies and scary spiders and all kind of small rodents- and trees. Ah, the trees! They were huge, as tall as sequoias –or maybe they only looked that way because I was small for my age.

I loved those trees. I'd always fantasized that one day I'd climb one of them –just like in a fairy tale - and escape the ogre. Because in my world, the ogre was already on the ground and salvation was up there in the far away branches that seemed to touch the sky.

A shot brought me out of my reverie –a shot and a voice calling my name. Suddenly terrified, I looked around for a place to hide. _He_ was somewhere close.

Grissom>

I stopped. It wasn't the ogre's voice. I sighed in relief. This was a voice I didn't fear-

"Um, Grissom?"

I opened my eyes and looked around. Greg was frantically trying to sit up.

"What is it?" I asked.

"I think it's going to rain."

"No, it's not." I said dismissively, "It never rains in-" A fat drop fell on my forehead, effectively shutting me up. "Maybe you're right." I said. I sat up and started to unzip my bag, "Maybe we should get inside."

"Hey, would you give me a hand?" he said sheepishly, "This damn zipper got stuck."

"Sure," I said, slowly crawling out of my bag. I saw no reason to hurry; we were only going to get a light shower at most, and then it would stop. I was about to reassure Greg, when the fat drops of water multiplied and turned into a deluge.

I grabbed the zipper on Greg's bag and tugged-

And tugged again, with absolutely no success. He had effectively trapped himself inside.

"What the hell did you do?" I grunted.

"Just hurry up!" he retorted, "I'm getting wet here!"

He was getting wet, but I was getting _drenched_.

"I'd get this open faster if you'd stop wiggling-" I protested.

"I'm not wiggling!"

Finally, I gave up trying to open the bag and just dragged it towards the house and out of the rain. Greg enjoyed the ride –well sure; it was a game for him but it was hell for my poor back.

"Hey, you're really strong." he said admiringly, and those words effectively erased my bad mood. "What's that?" he asked, cocking his head to a side.

I paused. The gentle buzzing that had lulled us to sleep had turned into an eerie moan.

"It's the cockroaches." I grunted, tugging hard on the zipper again, "The rain must be disturbing them." I pulled with all my strength and yanked the bag open at last.

I fell back on my butt, completely exhausted.

"Thanks." Greg said, calmly getting out of the bag. "Now," he said, offering me a hand, "Could we pretend this was some sort of chastity belt that only my true love could get to open?"

I snorted.

* * *

Personally, I was glad it rained. It had given me the perfect excuse to get him inside the house without much ceremony. 

I went to get some towels and when I returned, I found him in the same spot I'd left him –in the middle of the kitchen. He had respectfully waited for me.

"So," he said as he dried his hair, "this is your home, huh?"

"I was wondering when you were going to catch on." I teased.

"I had my suspicions." He said, "I mean, you're not the kind of guy who would use a friend's house for a romantic getaway-"

"I guess I could have invented a better story."

"Yes." He nodded, "But on the other hand," he paused, "I don't want you to get better at lying."

I was putting on some dry clothes when I noticed that he was glancing here and there, trying to be inconspicuous about it.

He was curious, understandably so.

I reached for a switch on the wall and turned on every light in the kitchen and the living room. I took a deep breath.

"Go ahead," I said as casually as I could, "Take a look-"

"You sure?"

"Yeah."

"Just like that?" he paused, "No rules, no warnings about doors that ought to remain closed, no matter how curious I get?"

We shared a smile. This is something that Greg and I have in common –we were raised on a steady diet of fairy tales. When either of us alludes to one of them, the other immediately understands.

It's something we had never shared with anyone.

"Go ahead," I repeated, holding back the urge to follow him. I had to show him that I trusted him.

Predictably, he wasn't interested in the kitchen; he walked straight to the living room.

He took his time examining the bookcases, pausing here and there to read the titles of books and CDs; he studied the few objects of art–mostly wood sculptures- and a couple of butterfly collections displayed on the wall.

All along, he had been muttering a few comments to himself; but when he stooped to examine a row of VCR tapes, he spoke loud enough for me to hear.

"Ah, ha!" he said, "I knew it!"

"What?" I frowned.

"I found your porn stash."

"My what?" I frowned.

"You heard me," he replied.

I finally had an excuse to approach him. He glanced at me over his shoulder.

"Really, Grissom." He said sternly, "I'm shocked." He turned to look at the tapes again, "'_Hot Sex in Asia,' _" he said, " '_Big and Black'_, '_Big Suckers'_-"

I peered over his shoulder.

"'The Mating Habits of the South Korean Mantis'," I read aloud, "The African Rhinoceros Beetle', 'Bats in America,'" I looked at him, "Is your mind always in the gutter?"

"Luckily for you, yes." He said, his voice sounding husky and seductive.

I looked at him, noticing how dark his jaw looked. I touched it lightly, pacing myself. It felt rough –it felt good.

"Yes," I admitted, "I'm lucky."

I leant forward to kiss him, but he put a hand flat on my chest.

"Would you have let me in if it hadn't rained?"

He was looking at me in the eye, and I decided to be as honest as I could.

"It was my intention all along," I said, and then I added, "I even bought new sheets."

"Really?" he smiled, "What kind?"

"Linen." I said, "_Egyptian_ linen." I added smugly, enjoying the effect that my words had on him.

"Wow." He whispered. He grabbed the front of my shirt, "What the hell are we doing here, then?"

Later, while we lay close together under the covers, I started planning the day ahead. We were free until early in the evening, so we had time to do things leisurely. First, there was breakfast to take care of, and then a tour of the premises –including a visit to the cockroach nursery, if he felt he could stomach it. Then, there was lunch, or maybe a movie, or whatever we felt like doing.

And last but not least, there was a key that I wanted to give to him but still didn't know how. There had to be a romantic way to do this, and I fell asleep trying to find it.

* * *

The next morning, I got up early to cook breakfast. 

I was amazed at how good my pancakes looked; they had never looked so perfectly round and golden. Gratified by this success, I started working on the omelets and by the time he finally got up, I'd already poured the beaten egg mixture in the pan.

"Wow, you're cooking omelets?" he smiled widely, "I hadn't had those since I was a kid!"

"What would you like me to put in yours?" I asked, "Left-over sausage? Cheese? Mushrooms?"

"Surprise me." He smiled.

"Okay. Pour me a cup of coffee, will you?"

He took a couple of ceramic cups and put them on the counter. While he was occupied, I took the key I had in my pocket and put it in the omelet before folding it expertly.

Boy, was he going to be surprised by this filling!

Later, we heaped pancakes and omelets on two plates and sat down. We were about to dig in when my cell phone rang.

"You're on call?" Greg asked.

"No." I hesitated, "But I told Warrick to call if there was a break in the Henderson case." I regretfully rose from my seat. "This better be good." I muttered to myself.

"Hey, I'm hungry," Greg called out after me, "Do you mind if I start?"

"Help yourself." I said distractedly, and picked up the phone.

Yes, it was Warrick and yes, there had been a break in the case, but no, I didn't care. Still, I tried to pay attention. I was about to tell him how to proceed, when suddenly there was a hair-raising howl behind me.

"OW!"

I turned. Greg had pushed his chair back and now he was covering his mouth with both hands.

"What?" I asked, taking a couple of steps to him.

"MY TEETH!" he moaned and spat a mouthful of food back on the plate.

The key.

Oh, shit. I'd forgotten to warn him about the key in the omelet, and the poor guy had bitten into it.

I threw the phone on the couch and ran to help.

"Ow, man," he moaned, "what the hell did you put in the filling?"

"Nothing!" I said, quickly taking the plate and emptying its contents in the garbage disposal. "Are you hurt?"

He glared at me but didn't answer. He was covering his mouth with both hands again.

"Let me see," I said solicitously, but he quickly held up a hand to keep me from getting any closer.

"No!" He said sternly. With his other hand he gingerly touched his front teeth. He winced. "It'h broken."

Oh, shit.

"It's going to be ok." I said calmly. "A dentist will take care of it."

"Do you know anything about dentithtry, Grithom?" he retorted, keeping a hand over his mouth so I didn't see. "On living human beingth, that ith?"

"Greg, it's not a big deal," I said reassuringly, although by the way he was mispronouncing words, it seemed that it was, "It'll be ok, you'll see. Dentists perform miracles nowadays. Come on, let me see."

He reluctantly dropped his hands and opened his mouth.

"How doeth it look?" he asked anxiously.

I stared at the gap on Greg's formerly perfect smile.

"Ith it bad?" he asked anxiously.

"Well, no." I said, lying blatantly, "I mean, yes. A _little_ piece fell off."

"A little-"

"Well," he amended, "it's not so little, actually, but-"

"Oh, shit!" Greg bolted from his chair or at least tried to; I caught him and pushed him back on the chair. No way was I letting him go near a mirror.

"It'll be ok." I said, trying to placate him.

"That'th what you've been thaying, but-" suddenly, something attracted his attention. "Hum. Grithom?" he hesitated, pointing at something in the living room, "Who're you talking to?"

I froze. In my haste to help Greg, I'd simply thrown my cell on the couch. Warrick must have heard everything.

Crap.

"Who ith it?" Greg whispered.

"It's Warrick!" I hissed.

I took a deep breath and reached for the phone as if it was a bomb about to go off.

I could hear Warrick's laughter even before I picked it up.

"Hello." I said.

"HA, HA, HA, HA!"

"Warrick?" I said, using my 'I'm the boss' tone, "You through?"

He was practically hiccupping, but he finally got himself under control.

"Hey, Griss? What's up? Is Greg all right? Or should I say, _ith_ Greg all right? Bwah, ha, ha!"

Oh, he was enjoying himself.

"Warrick, look." I started, "I… I…"

"Hey, man." He said gently, "You don't have to worry. Your secret's safe with me." When I didn't speak, he insisted, "Really, Griss. It's not like I didn't have my suspicions."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, come on. I've been covering up for you about twice a month, and every time you're off, Greg has conveniently had the night off too! What are the odds on that?" he snorted, "And I know about odds, believe me."

He was right, for God's sake.

"Actually, it was Sara who put two and two together." He added.

"What?" I cringed. It was one thing to have Warrick know about this, but when it came to Sara…"_She_ knows?"

"Hey, she's a great CSI. She had to notice, Grissom."

Oh, crap, crap-

"I didn't want her to know."

"Well, don't worry." Warrick said reassuringly, "She won't tell, ok? Meanwhile, youbetter ask the Tooth Fairy to help you, 'cause it doesn't sound like Sanders is going to forgive your ass! BWAH, HA, HA, HA-"

I hung up.

Meanwhile, Greg had taken the chance to look at himself in the polished surface of a pan.

"I look like I thtopped a bullet with my teeth," he said in astonishment, and I had to agree; there was a perfect circle between his upper front teeth.

"Greg, I'm so sorry-" I said, "Listen, I'm going to get you an appointment with my-"

But the phone rang again.

"What!" I barked.

"Don't you ever say good morning, Gil?"

I couldn't believe this.

"Eckley?" I frowned, "Why are you calling me here?"

"As Assistant Director I can call you whenever I want, Gil." He retorted, "I need you to come to the lab as soon as possible."

"Why?" I asked, while following Greg with my eyes. He was looking around for something. "What do you want?"

"There's a break in the case."

"What case?" I asked, but I was more interested in Greg's movements. He had found his own cell phone and was calling someone. I put my hand on the mouthpiece on my phone and whispered, "What are you doing?"

"I'm calling my dentitht."

"Isn't it a bit early to do that?"

"Oh, she'll take my call, all right."

"How can you be so sure?"

"She loveth my teeth, that'th why." he retorted morosely, but then he softened his tone, "She'th a good friend." He explained, "She'th altho Dennith' thithter, tho-"

_What?_

"WHAT!" I dropped the phone on the couch, "She's Dennis' sister?"

"Yeah." He shrugged, "Hey, I better call Dennith and have _him_ call _her_-"

"No."

"No, what?"

"You can't call him." I said firmly.

"What? Why not?"

"Because-" I hesitated, "Because if you tell him what happened, he's going to think I can't take care of you, and then-"

"Take care of me?" he repeated indignantly, "_Take care of me?_" he was more pissed off now, "What am I, thome little kid lotht in the woodth? Hey, I've been living on my own thince I wath eighteen! I've never needed anybody to-" he tilted his head, "Who are you talking to now?" he asked, pointing at the cell phone that I'd forgotten on the couch.

I froze.

"Oh, no." I muttered.

"Who ith it?" Greg whispered.

"Eckley." I hissed.

"Ellie?"

"No, not Ellie!"

I gingerly picked up the phone.

"Conrad?"

"HA, HA, HA, HA, HA, HA!" Oh, he was enjoying this. "I have to hand it to you, Gil. This _is_ a surprise! Ha, ha! Wait 'till I tell everyone at the lab- HA, WAIT 'TIL I TELL EVERYONE AT THE DIRECTORS' MEETING! Ha, ha, ha!"

"Oh, no." I muttered. "Oh, no, no, no."

* * *

TBC 

I'll be posting the next chapter on Friday!

And please be on the lookout for a new chapter on A little something around the middle!


	9. V Day: The key

DILEMMA

* * *

"No, no..."

"Hey. Hey, Grissom-"

I felt a reassuring hand on my shoulder. That, and the soothing quality of Greg's voice gradually calmed me down. My heart was still beating fast, but I no longer had a sense of impending doom.

But maybe it wasn't just his voice that calmed me; maybe it was the fact that Eckley was no longer laughing at me and that instead of a phone, I was clutching something softer- a pillow.

_A pillow?_

I opened my eyes and sat up abruptly. I was in bed –my bed- and Greg was sitting next to me. He had turned on the headboard lamp. His hand still rested on my shoulder.

"You ok?" he asked, squinting a little because of the light.

"What?" I mumbled in confusion.

"You were having a nightmare," he explained.

"No kidding." I said breathlessly. I looked around; I had rolled to the edge of the bed and would have fallen off if Greg hadn't intervened.

A nightmare.

I was elated.

It was only a dream -Warrick didn't laugh his ass off at me; Sara didn't know about my relationship with Greg, and Ecklie didn't listen to our conversation-

Now I understood why my pancakes and my omelets had looked so perfect.

Thinking of omelets reminded me that I had _not_ put the key in one.

"Thank God." I groaned, falling back on my bed.

"Whoa, you used the _G_ word." Greg said admiringly, "That must have been a pretty bad dream."

"Yeah," I said ruefully, "It was."

"What did you dream of?"

"Well, I dreamed that I put a - Hum-" I paused. "I mean," I amended, "I was dreaming that you were-" I paused again.

"That you and I…? Yep, it sounds awful," he teased and then he smiled, showing off perfect, _unbroken_ teeth.

_Oh, thank God. _

I sighed and closed my eyes in relief.

Greg gently shook my shoulder.

"Come on; tell me your dream."

I took a deep breath. _I could do this_, I thought. I only had to do some editing.

"Ok," I said. I rolled over until I was beside him, and lay my head on his lap. His legs weren't exactly cushiony, but he was warm and that was enough.

He laid a hand on my chest.

"Talk," he said.

I looked up.

"Eckley was there-" I started.

"_Eckley?_" he frowned, "You were dreaming of _Eckley_?"

"Well, it was a nightmare," I mumbled, "See, he wanted me to go back to the lab, and you wanted to call De-" I stopped. _No way_ was I telling him that part, "A dentist." I finished. Greg was mystified.

"_A dentist_?"

"Yeah," I said morosely, "Why? It was a nightmare, after all."

He shook his head.

"That's it," he said dryly, "You're not eating sausages at night ever again."

"I won't," I said, putting my hand on top of his. "I promise."

We were silent for a while. He was massaging my scalp with one hand, but he was distracted; his focus was on the room we were in. He was taking in the sparse furniture, the white ceiling, the antique armoire-

He hadn't said much when we entered the bedroom, except to compliment me on the old Pink Floyd posters that I had framed and hung by the door. It was the only decoration, but as he said, with such a huge bed in the middle of the room, who needed distractions?

"This room is really quiet." He said, "It feels like we're miles away from the city."

"Uh, huh." I nodded. That was exactly what I liked about it.

"It's almost as if we were in a vault." He added with a wince.

Oh.

"It's soothing, I guess." He said doubtfully.

"It is." I said.

I turned a little and pressed my face against his belly.

This was soothing, too.

"So, you're not going to tell me more about your dream." He said.

"Uh, huh." I shook my head.

"Well, that's ok." He said good-naturedly, "As long as you don't dream too often about _Eckley_." He glared, "You don't have a thing for bald heads, do you?"

"Only yours." I mumbled.

He laughed and his tummy shook against my face. I loved feeling the slight vibrations.

"Hey," he said gently, "You wanna go back to sleep?"

"Mmmh," I didn't move.

"Are you going to be o-" he said before a yawn interrupted him, "-kay?"

Aw. The poor guy was tired and I was keeping him awake. Bad, bad, Gil.

I dropped a kiss on his belly and sat up.

"I'll be fine." I said reassuringly.

"Well, good," He said, picking up my pillow and fluffing it up, "And if you have the urge to dream again, try dreaming something sweeter." He added dryly, "I mean, come on," he scoffed, "Who dreams of _Eckley_? And a _dentist_?"

Ah, the dentist.

"Do you have a dentist, Greg?" I asked.

"Yeah," he said carelessly, handing me the pillow. "Why?"

"Well, hum-"

"Shit," he was suddenly alarmed, "Is there something wrong with my teeth?" he gingerly felt around with his tongue, "Do I have any cavities?"

"How would _I_ know that?" I frowned.

"Oh, please," he snorted, "You performed a thorough examination with your tongue last night, remember?"

"Well, you examined mine too." I smiled.

"Yep." He patted my chest, "And your teeth are just fine, by the way."

"Apart from being crooked." I added.

"They're endearingly crooked." He said kindly.

Aw. I was leaning forward to kiss him, when I realized he had not answered my question. I pulled back.

"So, who's your dentist?"

"Dr. Ann Hoggard." He said. When he noticed that I was not satisfied with only a name, he added, "She's been my dentist since I was a kid." he added. "Why?"

"Nothing," I shrugged evasively, "I was just curious."

He shook his head.

"You're weird, sometimes."

"I know." I admitted apologetically.

"But I love you anyway." he said, leaning forward to give me a peck on the lips.

I looked at him.

I didn't want to turn all mushy, but it suddenly occurred to me that he looked good in my bedroom. Actually, he looked good anywhere, but what I meant was that his being there seemed to justify everything I'd done in my room- the colors I chose, the size of the bed, even the type of headboard light I bought. He made everything look better.

Even my nightmares were funny and relatively benign thanks to his being there with me.

Ah, beautiful man-

"Do you want me to turn off the light?" he asked, interrupting my thoughts.

"Yes." I said, "No." I added abruptly.

"Hey, make up your mind. Yes or no?"

"Not yet," I paused. "I have something for you." I said solemnly.

"I know," He smirked, "It's hot and half an inch shorter than mine."

I gaped and he burst out laughing.

"Not that," I glared.

I rolled out of bed and stumbled to the chest closest to the bed. I opened a drawer and felt around until I found a little oblong box that I'd kept under my socks for the last couple of weeks.

When I got back in bed I reached for his hand.

"This is for you." I said.

I put the box on his open palm and then sat back expectantly.

I'd been so sure that he would tear up the box in his haste to get at the contents, that his actual reaction sort of disappointed me: He stared at the object in his palm, as if he couldn't make out what it was.

I began to get impatient. Now that I'd taken this step, I couldn't wait for him to open the box.

"Go on." I said.

"What is it?" he asked without looking up.

"Just open it." I said, "It won't bite." I added good-naturedly.

He scowled at me, but at least he opened the box -gingerly, as if afraid of what he would find inside.

The little box's contents were harmless enough -a key and a white card with some numbers scribbled on it- but he acted like he had never seen anything like it before.

"It's the key to the front door," I explained, "And the security code." I waited for a reaction and got none, "You'll have to memorize the code and destroy the card, Agent Sanders." I added as a joke.

He gulped.

"The front door-"

"Of this house, yes." I finished.

He smiled faintly.

"Just like that?"

Ah, if he only knew…

"Sure." I mumbled, "I mean, you didn't expect me to put it inside a sandwich as a surprise, did you?"

"Actually, I didn't _expect_ it." He replied.

He didn't look happy. He didn't throw his arms around me, and he didn't express his gratitude. In short, he didn't react the way I hoped he would. He just stared at the key. Maybe I should have told him about the dream; maybe then he would have been more enthusiastic about getting the key this way.

After a moment I took the box from him and placed it on the night table next to his side of the bed.

"Come on," I said, pulling the covers, "Let's get a little sleep."

The words made him react at least.

"Grissom… hum. Thanks."

"Sure." I said.

"I mean it." He insisted. "You just- You took me by surprise."

"I know."

I turned off the lights, and lay on my side of the bed. For a moment, we lay next to each other, in darkness and in silence.

After a moment, he snuggled closer to me and put an arm around me. We didn't talk. We were tired, but it took us quite a while to fall asleep again.

* * *

When I woke up the next day, he was already up. I could hear him puttering in the kitchen –and by the noises, I could tell there was a lot of activity going on.

I jumped out of bed and put on my clothes in a hurry. I hadn't planned for him to be alone in the kitchen –or anywhere else for that matter. I needed to see what he was doing.

It wasn't until I was reaching for the doorknob that I realized that I needed to back down. I'd offered him a key, now I had to show him that I trusted him.

I took a deep breath and decided not to overreact, no matter what I saw.

It was a big mess. He had taken out every pan I owned, although there were only two on the stove; the others were piled up neatly on the counter.

Ah, the counter. There were egg shells, open containers of milk and flour, wooden spoons oozing pancake batter lying on otherwise clean plates-

"Good morning!" he smiled at me, "Breakfast is almost ready!"

"You're cooking?"

"Yeah." He said carelessly. "Why? Guys cook too, don't they?"

"I didn't know you did." I said, approaching cautiously, "All I've seen you do is defrost and reheat."

I was being unfair. He did cook now and then, but this was the first time I'd seen him prepare so many things at the same time. As far as I could see, he was cooking _huevos rancheros_, pancakes, and hash browns, and it looked like he'd prepared everything from scratch.

He had used several pots to mix the pancake batter, and it looked like he'd used every knife on sight to chop up tomatoes, onions, and potatoes.

He seemed to know what I was thinking.

"Sorry." He said, "I tried several knives, but they were dull, so-"

"And the pans-"

"I needed one of Teflon and it was underneath the others." He explained.

"There was one on top." I said.

"It's too small," He said gently.

Of course. All the pans that were within reach were the ones I used to cook for one.

"But don't worry." He said, smiling mischievously, "I'll put everything back in its proper place. I took pictures of every cupboard. Now, do you want to help?"

We worked together well, just like we did when we were out in some crime scene.

Neither of us mentioned the key.

Later, we ate in companionable silence. There was a sense of expectancy in the air; I would look up now and then and catch him eyeing me speculatively. For a moment it was as if we were back at Loving Bear Donuts, with unsaid things between us.

I was wondering how to approach the matter, when suddenly he uttered the most dreaded words an insecure man in a relationship will ever hear.

"We need to talk."

TBC

Thanks for reviewing!


	10. V Day: Someone knows

DILEMMA

I've said it before: I love GSR, but when I'm in the mood for GGR, I picture Sara with Warrick.

* * *

"We need to talk." 

"Ok," I said calmly.

The words filled me with dread, but Greg wouldn't have guessed just by looking at me.

Keeping my emotions in check and presenting a bland façade to the world is an ability of mine that has been useful over the years. It helped me back in college, when I played poker to pay the bills, and it helps me now, when I deal with criminals. I can listen impassively to anything they say, and all they'll ever get from me is a detached, _'So, you dismembered the body and hid it under your bed? Uh, huh. What else?' _and I never let them know how I feel about the horrors they tell.

So, that morning I calmly looked at Greg and vowed not to crumble, no matter what he said.

Greg was just the opposite; he was nervous and it showed. He would pick up a fork and then put it down, only to pick it up again. He used the fork to pick up a stray piece of pancake and then looked at it as if it held some important clue.

He was stalling.

"Greg?" I prompted him.

He looked up.

"Sorry," he said. "I'm still not sure how to say this." he admitted. He shifted in his seat. "I've been trying to tell you for days-" He said, "But I've chickened out at the last minute."

"I noticed." I said.

"Did you?" he paused, "You didn't say anything-"

Of course, I didn't. I'd been hoping he'd simply get over whatever was bothering him and return to normal.

"I thought you'd tell me, eventually." I said.

Greg looked at me and smiled sheepishly.

"Relationships are complicated, huh?" he said, "I bet you didn't think it would be like this."

I smiled back but didn't comment. He looked at the fork in his hand and then he spoke again.

"See, the thing is… We have fun, you and me. I don't want to lose that."

Okay, I thought cautiously.

"I mean, last night was really great, Grissom. Not just dinner, but the songs, and-" he smiled when I winced, "Oh, yeah," he added, "I'm not letting you forget that you sang –and danced. Hey, you have a nice voice," he teased, "Why be embarrassed about it?"

We smiled at each other, and then he took a deep breath.

"See? This is what happens every time I try to talk to you," he said, "I open my mouth to speak but before I do, you say something cute or do something cute; and then I start wondering whether I should mess up with this-"

Well, I thought, _don't _mess up with it, then.

"I had fun last night, Grissom." he said, "I mean, even the rain seemed to fit in your plans." He smiled. "I was in such a high that by the time I was in my sleeping bag, I'd already decided not to say anything." He paused, "But then you took me into your home, and-" He shook his head as if he still couldn't believe it,"And then you gave me your key-"

"Well-"

"And that changes everything, Grissom."

"Greg… It's just a key-" I argued.

"It's more than that," he said, and then he took his key ring from a pocket and put it on the table. He separated the newest addition from the rest, "This key says that you trust me."

"Yeah," I nodded cautiously, "I do."

"Well, I want to deserve that trust." He said firmly, "And that means I have to tell you something I did, even though it's gonna piss you off."

Oh, crap.

"Or maybe it won't;" he said with a frown, "It's hard to tell; I mean, you're kind of unpredictable, sometimes-" he shook his head, "Anyway, this is something that happened way before we got together, but it's precisely what brought us together, if you know what I mean-"

He was starting to babble and my bland façade was starting to crumble.

"Greg," I said impatiently, "Just tell me."

"I will," he assured me, "It's just hard, ok?" he paused as if to put his thoughts in order, "I mean," he added, "I know how much you value your privacy, Grissom. You like to keep your life to yourself and I understand that, but… a year ago I wasn't concerned about all that. At the time I was more concerned about my feelings for you, and- well, _I_ can't keep things to myself, sometimes." He lowered his voice, "I needed someone to talk to, Grissom." He said slowly, "So- I told a friend."

I nodded, mostly to encourage him to continue.

"A good friend." He added, "At first it seemed like this was the last person I should talk to," he said ruefully, "But talking helped. I even got the encouragement I needed to go for it."

A friend, I thought; an encouraging one. In my mind, I started to picture a lightly freckled face, arrogant and handsome; the face of my nemesis, Dennis-the-Psychologist, who must have been playing the role of 'understanding friend' at the time.

"You see," Greg was saying, "I really love this friend and-"

Oh, crap.

"And she cares about me." Greg finished.

I froze.

It wasn't Dennis, then. It was a woman.

Was this good or bad?

"She's protective of me." he said, "She is very-" He paused, "Grissom?" he frowned, "Are you breathing?"

"Uh, huh," I mumbled, even though for a moment I'd forgotten to.

"Are you ok?" he asked.

I was not; the suspense was killing me.

"Can't you just tell me, Greg?"

"Right," He said, "Ok." He nodded, but it took him a while to say more, "So, hum," he hesitated, "I talked to her and ended up telling her that I had a crush on you, and-" he paused, "She froze," he said ruefully, "It must have been the last thing she expected from me, you know? I mean, I was always teasing her and flirting with her-"

Oh, no, I thought. Oh, no, no-

"I flirt with her 'cause she's pretty, you know? She is, but she doesn't know it, if you know what I mean," he said, "And if someone tells her, she just doesn't believe it, so -" he shrugged slightly, "I tease her all the time."

-no, no-

I didn't want to hear this.

"Not that she ever took me seriously." He added, "I guess she saw right through me." He mused, "One day she sat me down and asked me to be honest. I couldn't lie to her, so-"

I gulped.

"You told Sara." I said.

Greg held my gaze.

"Yes."

I glanced longingly at the hallway that led to my bedroom. I couldn't help wishing I was still asleep, having one of my oh-so-funny nightmares. When I looked back, I realized he was waiting for me to say something.

With an effort, I held on to my bland façade.

"You shouldn't have done that." I said calmly.

"She isn't going to tell -"

"That's not the point."

"She's ok with this, Grissom."

I looked down.

"Are you angry?" he asked cautiously.

"I'm not." I said eventually, "I'm only wondering how this is going to change things at the lab-"

"Nothing's going to change." he said quickly, "I mean, nothing has changed so far -"

But the truth is, I wasn't really concerned about the lab. I was thinking of Sara. There was a time when I had considered the possibility of being with her, only to pull away again and again –until she gave up on me, probably convinced that I just wasn't interested in romance. And now she knew that wasn't the case.

Greg was right; Sara was the last person he should have talked to about us.

"There's something else," He said.

Something else? With a sinking feeling, I looked up and waited for him to continue.

"Do you remember what Sara said last week about having lunch at La Lumière?" he asked.

"She said she had made the reservations…" I hesitated, "And something about turning a table for two into a table for four-"

"Exactly," he nodded, "She was inviting us, Grissom."

"She was?" I frowned, "Why would she do that?"

"We're her friends."

"But this is a romantic occasion; they should be alone-" I paused when I realized something, "Warrick knows about you and me." I said.

"Yeah," he nodded.

Amazing. Suddenly, my nightmares were coming true.

Wait a minute-

"Does Eckley know?" I asked abruptly.

"No!" Greg said immediately, "Do you think I'm that stupid? I only told Sara, and she's not going to tell anybody. Except Warrick, that is."

I sighed and closed my eyes for a moment.

"She really wants us to go." He said.

"Why?"

"It's her first St. Valentine's lunch, Grissom; the poor girl must be freaking out. Maybe she just needs our support." He paused, "Maybe she needs your blessing."

I looked at him.

"She doesn't need my blessing." I argued, "I made it clear I didn't have a problem with their relationship."

Greg snorted.

"Actually, all you did was warn her against working cases together." He said dryly. "I think she needs to talk-"

I winced. _I_ didn't need to talk.

He noticed my expression.

"Shit. You're pissed off-" he said.

"I'm not." I said calmly. I wasn't exactly pissed off; I simply felt I'd been ambushed… And he hadn't even used the word 'Baby' to warn me.

I didn't want to deal with this. I took a deep breath and looked around. The sun was pouring in, lending a delicate golden glow to every surface in the kitchen. Even the mess on the counter looked picture-perfect. Too perfect, in fact. Maybe I _was_ still asleep and dreaming?

Well, if I was, then this was about the right moment to wake up... but nothing happened.

Maybe pinching myself could help...?

Ouch.

I winced and he noticed.

"What are you doing?" he asked curiously.

"Nothing." I mumbled, "Just testing something."

He gave me another of his _'you're weird'_ looks, and this time I responded with my own, '_look who's talking_' look.

He smiled faintly, but after a moment his smile faded.

"Are you ashamed?" he asked quietly.

The question took me by surprise.

"Ashamed?"

"Yeah. You know, of being with a guy-"

"No." I said honestly, "I just-" I hesitated, "I'd never had so many people aware of my private life before."

He looked at me.

"But that's only part of it, right?" he said slowly, "I mean, you said yes to me only after Sara started dating Warrick." He paused, "And Sara started dating Warrick only after I told her I was serious about you." He looked at me, "It looks like there was something between you two."

I nodded reluctantly.

"So," he said, looking down, "What happened?"

_You happened_, I was going to say, but that was only partly true. Even before Greg forced me to look at myself and accept who I was, I'd already realized that I couldn't love Sara.

"Nothing ever happened," I said, "I'm not the kind of man she needs –and not just for the obvious reasons." I said, "There were times when I thought I could try –and times when I wanted to try- but," I shrugged, trying to find the right words, "I couldn't. There are things I'd never do, not even for her. I never wanted to have kids, and-"

Greg snorted.

"I don't think Sara wants to have kids either."

"She may think so now, but once she opens up to Warrick, she might change her mind." I paused, "_I _would never change my mind."

"Uh, huh," he nodded thoughtfully, "So-" he said after a moment, "You simply assumed _I_ didn't want to become a father?"

I gaped.

I couldn't believe this; Greg actually looked hurt.

"You…" I mumbled, "You want to-"

"Well," he shrugged, "There's something called adoption, you know."

"Yes, but-" I hesitated, "Well," I mumbled, "If you… I mean, if you really-"

He burst into laughter.

"Aw, man," he said, "Are you trying to say that you could change your mind?"

I was not! I opened my mouth to deny this, but didn't say anything in the end. My so-called bland façade was lying all around me, pulverized by emotions I hadn't been able to hold back.

But Greg –oh, he was enjoying himself immensely.

"Oh, man, I wish you could look at yourself right now." He chuckled. "Hey," he added, reaching for my hand and patting it reassuringly, "Relax." he said tenderly, "I don't intend to become a dad any time soon. I mean, come on!" he smirked, "Taking care of _you_ is a full-time job."

Oh. Good. That meant I could start to breathe again.

"You look relieved." He noticed.

"You have no idea;" I said breathlessly. Then I glared, "Don't do that again, ok? My heart won't take it one of these days."

"Don't worry," he said, "I'll always take care of your heart."

I held on to his hand for quite a while. I needed the reassurance.

"Grissom," he said and he paused until I looked up, "I'd really like to go to La Lumière."

"Greg-"

"Look," he interrupted, "Sara is my friend, and I'd like to be there for her." He said quietly. "You should be there, too." he added. He rubbed my hand with his thumb. "And if you feel the need to apologize to her…" he said pointedly, "Then this is your chance." He paused, "Just think it over, Ok?"

"Do I have a choice?" I asked dryly.

"Sure, you do." He said, giving my hand a final squeeze.

He rose from his seat and began to pile up the dirty dishes.

"Don't bother," I said, "I'll take care of them later."

"Nah, I'll do it." he said good-naturedly.

"But I was hoping you'd help me feed my cockroaches-"

"Hell, no," he winced, "Those are _your_ kids. _You_ take care of them."

"Wimp." I muttered and he snorted.

"Hey, I'm not a wimp," he said, "But I made this mess and I have to fix it. As for your pets-" He put both hands on the table and leant forward, "Next time you invite me over, I'll change their diapers and feed them." He quipped, "I promise."

I smiled. I liked the fact that he was talking about a _next time_.

Resigned to the fact that he was not going to help, I went outside. I fed my pets and cleaned up their cages and for an hour my attention was completely focused on them. Once I finished my chores, however, it was time to face my new dilemma. A new decision was expected of me and I still didn't know what to do. The idea of facing Sara disturbed me. It didn't matter that she had known all about Greg and me for a year -_I_ hadn't been aware of this, and I wished Greg hadn't told me.

I sighed. It was at times like this that I questioned the wisdom of entering a relationship. It pissed me off to feel vulnerable, insecure, and –why not admit it?- foolish. I mean, I'm a smart man; all my life I've relied on knowledge and science to get ahead and I've done pretty good. Cases may baffle me at first, but I know what to do to find the answers.

But when relationships and feelings baffle me, there is not one book I can turn to.It's frustrating.

* * *

I still hadn't decided what to do when I went back inside the house.

Greg had done a great clean up job in the kitchen. He was still there, putting the pans back in the cupboards and muttering something to himself.

I smiled as I watched him. It suddenly occurred to me that, baffled or not, I'd been having fun since we started this relationship.

I walked until I was standing just behind him.

"Hey," I greeted huskily.

"How the hell do you manage to get these inside?" he asked impatiently, "I can't make them fit-"

"That's ok." I said, "Leave them and I'll-"

"No way," he interrupted, "I said I'd return everything to its place, and that's what I'm gonna do!"

He was determined, and I knew better than to interrupt him.

I needed a shower, anyway.

But when I returned to the kitchen ten minutes later and found him in the same position I'd let him before, I knew it was time to intervene. I brought the box of chocolates he gave me and waved it in front of his eyes to entice him away.

_Response_: A distracted, "Thanks, but I've got to finish this." And he turned his attention back to the cupboard and the photo he'd taken with his cell phone.

I playfully kissed his stubbly cheek.

_Response_: An exasperated "Do you mind?" followed by a mutter, "I don't get it. For some reason I can't make all the pans fit. I must be doing something wrong, but-" and he forgot all about me.

Crestfallen, I returned to my room to get dressed.

I was about to take off my bathrobe when I looked at the unmade bed.

And I smiled.

I walked out of my room and stood in the hallway.

"Hey, Sanders?" I called out, "You finished there?"

"Not yet!"

"Well, what are you going to do about the mess in the bed?" I asked sternly.

"What mess?" he asked incredulously.

"Come down and see for yourself!"

He immediately abandoned his task in the kitchen –just as I knew he would- and by the way he stomped down the hallway, I could tell he was in a combative mood.

"What is it?" he asked as he entered the bedroom, "Well?" he asked as he looked at the bed, "It's unmade -big deal! There's no mess in here-"

"Well," I interrupted calmly, "Shouldn't we making up one?"

Greg winced and for a few seconds he only stood there, with his mouth open, hesitating between one word and the next. But whatever words he had planned to say, they died away. He closed his mouth with a snap, and then he rolled his eyes.

"You tricked me." He said, smiling reluctantly.

I nodded.

"I love you." I said, and I took a step closer. "Shall I count the ways?"

He snorted.

"Nah," he said, "Just show me."

* * *

TBC 

Next: a conversation in bed and a decision to make about lunch… and maybe, the return of evil Dennis.

(OMG! If I continue like this, by the time I finish this Valentine's Day tale it'll be Halloween and time for Grissom to start sacrificing virgin moths!)


	11. V Day: A sweet moment

DILEMMA

I apologize for not updating sooner, but MY COMPUTER CRASHED! I LOST MOST OF MY FILES AND MY WIP's!

I still can't believe this happened! I spent two weeks in a sort of daze, but I'm recovering now.

This is just a romantic interlude...

* * *

"Give me a truffle, will you?"

I pretended not to hear. I didn't want to move; I was too comfortable, lying on top of him, with my head resting on his flat belly and my arms wrapped around his thighs.

"Hey, Grissom?" he said softly.

I didn't stir. If he wanted a chocolate, then he would have to get up and get it himself.

Of course, to get up he'd have to make me move off him first... And that was going to be difficult.

But he knew that already, and that's why he played dirty.

"Hey," he said, gently touching my shoulder, "Are you awake, _baby_?"

Oh, that damn word. I melt faster than chocolate whenever he uses it.

I tried to resist.

"Those are _my_ chocolates, you know." I mumbled.

"If you didn't want to share, then you shouldn't have opened the box." He said cheekily, "I warned you, remember?"

I moved just enough to glare at him, but my heart wasn't in it. He was right after all; he had warned me.

Resignedly, I crawled to the edge of the bed and reached for the box. We'd been sampling truffles between naps, and we'd already finished off the top layer. Even our bed smelled of chocolate now.

That thought made me pause. _Our_ bed? I couldn't believe I was thinking in those terms.

I shook my head and he noticed.

"What?" he frowned.

"Nothing," I muttered, "Just thinking."

"That's a bad sign." He mumbled.

"Here," I said, pushing the box towards him, "Take one," I said, and before he touched it, I added, "And I mean it, Greg. _One_."

"Man, you're so selfish," he muttered as he looked into the box.

"Hey, I'm only trying to keep the sheets clean."

"It's too late for that," he quipped.

He was right. We were lying on a relatively clean corner of the bed, but the rest was damp and rumpled. I didn't mind.

"Are you finished, yet?" I prompted him.

"Don't rush me," he glared, "This is the last one, so I have to choose one I like." He paused, "They all look good."

"Here," I said, picking a truffle and tossing it to him. He frantically caught it in the air.

I put the box back on the table and resumed my former position, only this time I held him more tightly.

"Mmmmh, it's an orange crème-" he mumbled as he munched on the truffle. "Hey," he said after a while, "This is great, isn't it? Eating in bed, I mean. It's sooo decadent."

I looked up and watched as he licked his fingers.

"Maybe we should always keep some food around," he said, "You know, grapes, little cubes of cheese, wine, truffles-"

"Some BBQ sauce-"I suggested.

He snorted.

"Ugh," he glared, "That doesn't sound appetizing."

"I've heard it goes well with ribs," I said, and before he knew what was happening, I dug my fingers into his ribs and tickled him.

"Shit!" Greg gasped, and then burst into involuntary laughter.

"Oh, yeah," I cried trimphantly, "I like these ribs-"

Greg squirmed under me and managed to push my hands away.

"Don't do that, Grissom!" He warned, "I mean it, ok? I'm very ticklish, and-"

"Good," I retorted, "Thanks for the information!" I added, launching a more serious attack on his ribs and belly. Greg is pretty strong and tried to push me off him, but he was no match. Let's just say I outweighed him _a little_.

But he was smart and sneaky; he realized he couldn't get me off, so instead he did something more vicious: he tickled me just as hard. The tickling promptly degenerated into wrestling, and after an even match, we ended up lying side by side, exhausted and breathless from laughing so much.

"Ew," I chuckled, "You drooled chocolate all over yourself."

He quickly wiped hismouth with the back of his hand.

"It was your fault!" He protested indignantly.

"No, it wasn't-"

"Hey, you started the fight, remember?" he said, and then he shook his head, "You're like a kid, sometimes-"

"I wish," I muttered unguardedly.

He looked curiously at me.

"You do?" he asked.

Oh, crap. This wasn't the kind of thing I intented to admit in front of him.

Greg turned and put his arm under his head to better look at me.

"Do you wish you were younger?"

"Sometimes," I said reluctantly, "Just like everbody, I guess." I paused, "Not that I'd like to be thirty again-" I added.

"What's wrong with being thirty?" he smiled. He was turning thirty this year (as he kept reminding me; I had the feeling he was expecting a big gift from me.)

"There's nothing wrong." I said. I just didn't have good memories from that time. I looked at Greg, "Would _you_ like to be eighteen again?"

He snorted. "_Nooo_, thank you."

"See?"

Greg smiled and then he looked at the ceiling.

"I can't imagine a younger you." he said after a moment, "I feel like this is who you were meant to be from the beginning: Gil Grissom, age fifty."

I gaped. What a nice thing to say.

I didn't even point out that I was fifty-two, not fifty. If he wanted to think I was younger, why should I contradict him?

"Do you have any pictures, Grissom?"

"Pictures of what?"

"What do you mean, pictures of what?" he smiled, "Family pictures, of course." He said, "Vacation pictures, graduation pictures... You know, the kind that you put in an album." He looked at me, "I'd like to know more about you." He said, "And no, I'm not talking about your work as a criminalist." he warned, "I'm talking about your history. I'd like to see pictures of your mom and dad, uncles and aunts-" he smiled, "Embarrassing pictures of you taking someone to the prom or playing naked in a backyard pool." He glanced around, "I'd bet somewhere in this house there are naked-baby pictures of you, waiting to be discovered." he looked at me, "I hope you let me see them some day."

Ha. Good luck with _that._ I didn't intend to let him see my pictures. I had several albums, by the way; they were well cared for and neatly labeled, but I never let anyone near them.

"That reminds me," He said, "You haven't shown me the rest of the house."

I wasn't too keen on that now. If I gave him a tour of my home, he was going to notice the absence of family pictures in the rooms, and that was only going to make him more curious about them.

Greg was looking expectantly at me.

"We'll do that next time." I offered.

I had the feeling that I was letting him down, so I chose that moment to tell him that I wanted to go to Robin's party.

He was surprised.

"You do?"

"Yeah."

"Ok," he said slowly, "Good. I'll help you choose your outfit." He said, eyeing the closet at the far end of the room, "I can't wait to take a look at your wardrobe, baby."

Oh.

TBC

Next... The return of Dennis, and a disastrous party.


	12. V Day: Dennis strikes back

DILEMMA

Will Grissom survive a Valentine's Day party?

* * *

We got late to Robin's party and it was Mr. Vain's fault; not only had he taken too long to fix his hair to a spiky perfection, he'd also fussed over me and my clothes -but he'd managed to make me look good, so no, I wasn't complaining.

Robin's place was packed, and Greg and me got separated as soon as we walked in. He was quickly engulfed by his closest friends, and I was left behind to fend for myself. I felt a tinge of apprehension. I don't interact well with large groups of people –except when I'm with my own kind: entomologists, criminalists, and (let's face it) just plain weirdoes.

I was nodding here and there, when Robin came to my rescue. Soon I found myself sitting at the far end of the living room, surrounded by her closest friends, some of whom I'd met before. We had a lot in common: We were members of the older generation, we didn't dance, and most of us had younger partners who did. From our corner we could talk, see the dancing couples, and enjoy the music.

From there, I could keep an eye on Greg, too.

That morning I'd vowed not to succumb to jealousy, no matter what happened. Not even if Pete insisted on introducing his cousin to Greg (it was the first thing he did, by the way); not even if Dennis arrived at the party and immediately set to play the role of 'lonely ex-boyfriend' (which is exactly what he did), and not even if Greg set out to dance with everyone in sight.

Greg didn't dance right away, but only because he had work to do: First he prepared the punch he was so famous for, and then he took over as bartender while Pete took a break. Greg enjoyed both tasks; he made a big show out of everything he did, even something simple, like opening a bottle of beer for a friend.

He also made cracks about serving his punch 'shaken not stirred,' and although I could only read his lips, I knew he was doing his Sean Connery impression.

I had a great time watching Greg do all this, but there was also a downside to it: I got to see him greet his friends – girls and boys- with a kiss on the cheek. I winced every time he did it, but I'd promised myself I'd behave and I did. By the time he started to dance, I'd already numbed myself.

Actually, it was only when Dennis was around that I really paid attention. Dennis' behavior intrigued me. He was drinking more than he should; he butted into Greg's conversations, and when that failed, he simply steered Greg away from his friends. Then someone would take Greg back to one group or another and the game would begin again. He would also touch Greg, (even when they were not dancing); but he kept his touches casual and good-buddy like, nothing serious as far as I could tell (nothing that could be upheld in court, at least), so I kept quiet.

Apart from watching Greg, I was also studying Greg's gay friends. I've observed people's behavior all my life -single people, couples, entire families- without feeling any kind of involvement, but now I belonged to a new group and I had a new label: Not weirdo, but _queer. _I'd observed gay perps and gay victims before, but this was a chance to see gay men interact in a social gathering, and I was curious.

It was interesting –and funny. Like most people, their behavior changed once they were in a group. Just as straight guys suddenly try to out-macho one another when they're in a group, so were these guys acting out –the bigger the group, the gayer they became.

I didn't think much of it until I heard them playfully call one another 'bitch' and refer to their male friends as 'she'. It was just a ritual, but it got me wondering. It also gave me the perfect excuse to go looking for Greg.

I found him by the buffet table. He was fixing himself a sandwich. I stood just behind him and whispered, "I hope you didn't put any onions on that."

He turned and smiled.

"Hey," he said, "Have you eaten?"

"A couple of Swedish meatballs and lots of pretzels." I said. "I liked your punch, by the way."

"Really? Great." he seemed genuinely pleased. "So," he said, glancing around, "What do you think? Do you like the party?"

"It's ok." I said. It was noisy, the music was repetitive and loud, couples around us were moving frantically, and I still didn't understand why Robin needed to do this so often. But yeah, it was ok. "The decorations remind me of Loving Bear Donuts." I added. Indeed, Robin had decorated everything with red hearts –from the windows to the tiniest toothpick- only instead of paper, hers were made of satin and velvet.

"Are you having fun?" he asked, "I saw you hitting it off with Robin's inner circle."

"They're ok." I said, "I appreciate the way they try _not_ to ask me about my job."

Greg carefully picked up his sandwich.

"Want some of this?" he asked, offering me the first bite. I bit into a corner, which was all I could manage since the sandwich had too many layers of ham, cheese, turkey, and veggies. In fact, it was so thick, it reminded me of one of the characters in Greg's old comic books. He and his sisters had been avid readers of comics and Greg had inherited them all. I'd been browsing through the piles he kept at his place; the one I was thinking of was this guy who fixed huge sandwiches.

"That looks like something fixed by _Dagwood_." I said.

He smiled mischievously.

"Would that make you my _Blondie?_" he teased before biting into his sandwich.

"That reminds me," I said, "Some of your gay friends were calling each other by female names."

"Uh, huh?"

"You don't have a female name for me, do you?"

He almost choked.

"No, I don't." he chuckled. "Why? Do you want one?"

"No," I glared.

He laughed.

"It's ok." He said, "You don't need one to belong."

I smiled at him and rubbed his face with my thumb. He hadn't shaved for the party and his jaw felt heavenly. He smiled knowingly.

"You have a thing for my stubble, don't you?"

"I do not." I lied indignantly, letting my hand slid down to his neck. I let it rest there.

He took a big bite out of his sandwich and chewed earnestly, showing his delight with exaggerated noises that sounded almost orgasmic.

"Mmmmh, mmmmh," he hummed, sounding just like he did when we had sex. I gulped. He was turning me on and he knew it. I narrowed my eyes as a warning; it wasn't the right place or time to taunt me like that. But he simply shrugged, "Hey, it's a great sandwich. Mmmh, mmmh."

I shook my head.

"You're so bad." I said affectionately. I leant forward and pressed my cheek against his. He smelled good. He was wearing a new scent and I immediately approved; it was woodsy and clean; not like that citrus mess he used to wear, the one that made me sneeze-

"People are watching." He said huskily.

I opened my eyes. I was holding him in my arms, something I'd never done in public. I pulled back to look at him.

"Hey, it's ok." He said, "We're with friends." He leant forward to peck my lips.

He tasted of mustard.

"Mmmmh, Grey Poupon." I mumbled.

"Oooh, you're speaking French," he teased. "That's such a huge turn on-"

"Is it?" I asked. "That's good to know." I paused, "Tu est très beau." I said.

"Wow. Go on." He said before taking another bite of his sandwich.

"Je t'aime," I said, and then I frantically searched for every French word I knew, "Faux pas, Vendredi, Mercredi, Dimanche-"

He chuckled. He put his sandwich back on the table and focused his whole attention on me. He touched the lapel of my leather jacket. He fondled it, actually.

"You look good."

"So I've been told." I said. "The jacket was a success, by the way." I admitted. He had insisted that I wear it. He had raided my wardrobe for something fashionable to wear at the party and had come out with the leather jacket and the blue shirt he'd given me for Christmas. I hadn't been too enthusiastic about the jacket –it was dressier than I was used to wear, but he had insisted, and well, he had been right –I looked ok in it.

"I told you." He said smugly. He took hold of both lapels and caressed them –and me.

"You have a thing for leather, don't you?"

"Oh, yeah," he admitted, pulling me closer. "Wanna dance?"

"I haven't danced in public since I stepped on a cousin's foot," I said ruefully.

He chuckled.

"You know I can take it." He said.

But we didn't dance; we simply stood close together, with our cheeks touching –an island of quiet in the middle of a chaotic dancing crowd.

"I like this," he muttered, as he slid his hands under my jacket, "I mean, I'm all for discretion, but there's something about being affectionate in public-" he paused.

"It's a chance to show off," I said. It was, at least for me. I knew I was the object of envy from some of Greg's friends. Envy and puzzlement: Every time we met, the look in their faces said it all: '_You_ are Gil?' '_You_ are dating Greg?'

Most of them didn't understand our relationship, either. They assumed that we had a sort of teacher-pupil relationship, where I was the teacher and Greg, the pupil. But it wasn't so. Most of the time, he was the guide and I was the one who followed. It was cozy for me to have someone taking the lead. Cozy and reassuring.

I felt his hands move from my back down to my butt. I smiled to myself. Suddenly, I felt like bragging –_ Hey, take a look at us, boys and girls_.

Greg pulled back to look at me.

"Hey," he said, "I was talking to Robin about our date tomorrow. She says there's a Deli section at La Lumière; so I was thinking, since Sara and Warrick are footing the bill for our meal, maybe we could get them something," he said earnestly, "A bottle of champagne and strawberries sound good, right? Or maybe a basket of fresh fruit. What do you think?"

Waaait a minute… I didn't say I wanted to go to La Lumière.

Greg stiffened when he noticed my hesitation. He knew what it meant.

He gradually released the hold he'd had on me.

"You're not coming." He said.

"Greg-"

He took a step back, as if he needed the distance to better look at me. There was an incredulous look on his face that was quickly replaced by one of anger.

"Damn it, Grissom," he hissed.

His reaction took me by surprise.

"Hey," I said, "You said I had a choice-"

"Yeah, but only because I thought you'd make the right choice!" he retorted, "I mean, come on! Do you really think you can keep ignoring this?"

Well, yeah; I was hoping I could.

"Greg," I said slowly, "I know you mean well, but this is between Sara and me."

He looked at me, long enough for his anger to turn into disappointment.

"You're wrong," He said. "It involves me, too; it involves Warrick."

He waited for me to say something, but all I could do was gaze back in silence.

The tension was palpable and for a moment I had the impression that time had stopped and we were the center of everybody's attention. It wasn't like that, of course; couples around us continued talking and dancing, completely oblivious to us. But then, we weren't the first to have a fight at the party; I'd already witnessed several outbursts of bickering here and there.

I just never thought it would happen to Greg and me too.

"You've got to think about this, Grissom." He said, and then he turned away and went back to his friends.

In a daze, I returned to my seat and to Robin's friends. We avoided each other after that. He was pissed off, and I had nothing to say –nothing that would placate him, anyway.

Why couldn't he understand that I couldn't do this? Talk to Sara, that is. I mean, I could _speak_ to her and I already had, the night before. We'd met at a crime scene and we acted as if nothing had changed between us; not once did she mention lunch or La Lumiere, and not once did I tell her that I knew that she knew all about me now. We worked side by side, in harmony.

But that was only because we were working; she has such a deep respect for her job –and me- that this new knowledge we had of each other would not interfere at all. But if we stepped out of the lab and went to a fancy restaurant… well, then we'd have to _talk_, and we'd surely end up hurting each other. I didn't want to hurt her.

But deep down, I knew I'd already had.

I just didn't want to know for sure.

* * *

We were supposed to stay for dinner, but now I couldn't wait to get away. I needed to go to the one place where I knew where I stood, no matter what. The lab.

I was thinking of this and listening half-heartedly to Robin, when Greg came over.

"Hey," he whispered, "I need to talk to you."

_'Oh, crap'_, I thought. '_What now?_ '

I followed him to a corner. I was frantically thinking of something to say, but he beat me to it.

"Grissom," He said, "Can I have your car keys? I need to take Dennis home."

_'Whaaaaat?'_

"What?" I asked aloud, "Why?"

"He drank too much," Greg said ruefully, "He can't drive like this-"

"So, call him a taxi." I said uncharitably.

Fortunately for me, Greg thought I was joking.

"I can't do that," He chuckled, "If I put him in a taxi or if I drive him in his own car, he'll simply continue the party somewhere else. I need to make sure that he gets home and stays there."

He _had_ to be joking.

"Greg," I started, "You're not his babysitter-"

"I know," He said patiently, "But he's in really bad shape, Grissom. I can't let him leave alone." He glanced at a point behind me, and I turned. Dennis was there, leaning against the door and looking appropriately wasted.

And suddenly, I realized I'd underestimated Dennis. He had been drinking steadily since he came to the party and he'd been eyeing Greg with a sad expression all along. I'd dismissed these actions as pathetic, and only now I realized they were anything but. He had simply been playing a part. He'd looked lost and lonely –a tragic figure. It was a masterful performance, fit for an opera.

I could even imagine the marquee: _Dennis the Psychologist plays Pagliaci _

Well, I wasn't buying it.

"Any of these guys could take care of him, Greg."

"They're not his friends, you know that," he said patiently, "Look," he added, lowering his voice, "The truth is, Dennis is feeling a bit lost right now, ok? He's sort of depressed, and-"

"Well, if he is, then he should know how to handle it," I said irritably, "He's a _psychologist_-"

"I know-" he interjected.

"I mean, what kind of therapist is this guy?"

"Actually, he's quite good," Greg said dryly, "He has great insight where others are concerned." He paused, and then he looked pointedly at me. "He's just clueless about himself."

Uh? I frowned. Was he suggesting something…?

I refused to examine that thought. I was more concerned about not letting those two alone, so I tried to compromise.

"Ok." I said, searching for my keys, "We'll take him home, then. I'll drive."

"Hum." Greg hesitated. "Actually, it would be better if you didn't come."

I froze.

"Why?"

"Because-" he started and then he paused.

I looked closely at him, waiting for an explanation.

"Look, it's my fault." he said, "I dragged you here, and, well- Dennis didn't expect to see us together today. He, hum, isn't handling it very well, and-"

I gave him a look of incredulity.

"Greg, you can't possibly feel responsible for-"

"Maybe not," he interrupted, "But he's hurting, Grissom; I have to do something about it." He said firmly.

"It's not your fault-"

"That's not the point," he said, and then he lowered his voice, "Look. I can't pretend none of this is happening, Grissom." He said slowly, "I can't just cross my arms and hope that things will get better or that they will go away, like you do."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

It was his turn to look incredulously at me.

"You know," he said, "Sometimes it's cute, the way you seem to go through life, clueless about everyone and everything," he paused, "But sometimes it's not so cute-"

"Oh, _I_ am clueless?" I retorted, "What about you? Dennis is manipulating you and you don't see it!"

Uh, oh. I don't know much about relationships, but by the look in his face, I realized that badmouthing a former lover was a bad idea.

Greg visibly forced himself to speak calmly.

"Look," he said, "I just want to take him home. I'll be back in half an hour-"

"You don't see what he's doing?" I insisted.

"He needs me, Grissom."

Greg really believed what he was saying.

Dennis was winning, and I thought I knew what he was going to do next. He was going to have a little talk with Greg –similar to the one he'd have with me, only this time it would be _about_ me.

I wondered whether Greg would resent him for badmouthing me.

And then a sudden thought occurred to me; a thought that explained why everybody seemed to dislike Dennis so much: He had talked to all of them, Greg's boys and girls, and he had pointed out their flaws until they felt they weren't good enough for Greg.

And when that failed, he'd simply played the part of the lonely ex.

"He's done this before, hasn't he?" I whispered. "Whenever you find someone, he does everything possible to get you back. All he needs to do is act like a little kid lost, and you come to the rescue. It's emotional blackmail, Greg."

He stared at me for a moment.

"Whatever." He said softly. "The point is that right now he needs me more than you do." He looked down at my hand, "Can I have your car keys?"

I wanted to say no, but it suddenly occurred to me that saying 'no' was what had got me into all this trouble. I should have offered to go to lunch, I should have-

A brilliant thought came to me then: _'Maybe if I promised to go to La Lumière, he would feel compelled to stay with me-' _but the voice of reason immediately intervened: '_Oh, nice, Grissom._' I thought. _'You're willing to use blackmail too.'_

"Can I have your keys?" he repeated softly, interrupting my thoughts.

They were dangling from my fingers, but I couldn't just hand them.

"Do you need him more than you need me?" I asked.

Greg winced but didn't answer. He gently pried my fingers open and took my car keys. That's what _he _needed.

* * *

After that I didn't think I could stay at the party, and I mechanically said my goodbyes to Robin and her friends. I didn't give many explanations, and by the look on Robin's face, it was clear she knew what had happened. She gently patted my arm and gave me a Tupperware container.

"Here's dinner." She said. "And hey, I'll talk to him," she added. I vaguely nodded, but I didn't stop to ask what she meant by that. I just wanted to leave.

I wasn't in a hurry, so I took the stairs instead of the elevator.

I did my best not to think of Greg and Dennis, driving away together.

To distract myself, I started counting the things I needed to do before driving to the lab. First, I had to go home to change clothes -it wouldn't do to walk into CSI quarters, ostensibly looking as if I'd just been to a party, right? After that, I had to pick up a couple of books that I'd ordered -my belated gift for Greg-

I stopped in mid-step. I didn't want to face the possibility, but... what if Greg didn't come back? Yes, he would come back –he was driving my car, after all- but what if he decided _not to_ _come back_? What the hell was I going to do? I had grown so used to our relationship - what were the words I'd used earlier? Ah, yes. Cozy and reassuring.

I couldn't imagine not having that in my life.

I almost laughed at myself then. Back when we started this relationship, I'd promised myself not to expect more than I reasonably should. At the time, I was so sure we would not last more than a few months, that all I hoped was that our working relationship would survive. I thought I'd be prepared for a break up. I was sure I'd accept it and move on…

I would have laughed, but the possibility of a break up hurt too much.

I left the building. The sun was fading away, but the street lights supplied enough glare to make me squint a little. I looked to my right and to my left, but there was no sign of Greg yet.

I glanced at the parking lot, mostly because there was nothing else to look at... and did a double take. I started walking towards it, not sure of what I was seeing, but hoping that it wasn't just my brain (or my heart) playing tricks on me. For there, in the same space I'd left it earlier in the evening, was my car. And Greg was there, too.

He was sitting on the passenger seat, and he seemed to be lost in thought.

He looked up when he heard my steps.

"I put him in a taxi." He said.

TBC


	13. V Day: Possessive

DILEMMA

Sorry for the delay! I really don't understand why this took me so long! It's not as if I had a life, _believe me, _I don't. I just have difficulty turning my ideas into words.

Notes: Salvatruchas is the name of a street gang in Guatemala.

The songs excerpted are: 'It's too late' by Carole King, 'November Rain' by Axl Rose, and 'Love Hurts' by Nazareth.

* * *

"I put him in a taxi." 

Yes! I wanted to jump and raise my fist high in triumph but I held back as soon as I saw the gloomy look on his face; he was clearly not in the mood for a celebration.

I acknowledged his words with a mere nod.

"Here," I said, handing him the Tupperware container, "Robin asked me to give you this."

He took it and muttered his thanks.

I walked around the car and took a deep breath before I got in.

I had braced myself for a fight, but to my surprise, he didn't say anything. In fact, he didn't even glance at me.

I studied him surreptitiously. He was leaning against the passenger door, staring at the opposite wall as if it held some important message. There was nothing there, though; nothing except some graffiti - _'Mueran Salvatruchas_!' - written in surprisingly beautiful letters by some gang member with a knack for calligraphy.

Silence rarely bothers me but this time it did; Greg had never used silence to make a point -on the contrary: words are his forte.

Seeing him like this was disturbing to say the least. I wanted to say something or do something about it, but I didn't know what.

It was at times like these that I regretted the way I'd lived my life; I had a profession –several, actually- and I had acquired knowledge, but I'd never learned to deal with people on a personal basis.

I knew very little about love and relationships. I' d read extensively about both in order to understand people who committed crimes of passion, but no textbook had prepared me for this.

Relationships were confusing and exhausting.

The silence got to me after a moment. On an impulse, I turned on the radio, hoping to get some distraction from the news. Unfortunately, what I heard first was an old song:

And it's too late, baby, now it's too late

Though we really did try to make it

Something inside has died and I can't hide it I just can't fake it-

Uh, oh.

I tried another radio station:

We've been through this such a long, long time  
Just tryin' to kill the pain

But lovers always come and lovers always go  
And no one's really sure who's lettin' go today  
Walking away

Was fate trying to tell me something?

I turned off the radio and glanced at Greg again. I couldn't read the expression on his face; he wasn't angry –a feeling I could have easily dealt with- but he wasn't sad either. The more I studied his face, the more I realized that he looked resigned; he looked almost as if-

As if he had reached some decision and was at peace with it.

Oh, no.

I could imagine what that decision was.

I mean, we'd been threading on shaky ground these past two weeks but Robin's party had finally highlighted the differences between us: He liked parties and noise and I did not; he believed in talking things over and I did not. Just as I'd questioned myself for entering a relationship I was ill-equipped to deal with, so had he probably questioned himself for getting involved with me.

Maybe we'd simply reached a point where we needed to go back to our old lives. I knew _I_ missed mine. Back then, silences had been a source of comfort, and I'd been able to close the door on the world without having to worry about someone else's feelings. The idea of going back to that life appealed to me.

Suddenly, the idea of a break up didn't seem so tragic-

I stopped that line of thought; I was surprised at how calmly I was taking the possibility that I might lose Greg. It was hard to believe that after my earlier angst and after all I'd done to keep this relationship going (I'd taken him into my home and I'd sung to him, for God's sake!) I was ready to throw in the towel.

Could it be that my feelings for him weren't as strong as I'd thought before?

Or maybe I was simply doing what I did every time I was confronted with an emotional situation: Put a distance between myself and the source of pain. I had done it so many times that I easily got to a point where I felt nothing.

Or almost nothing: I was vaguely aware of a piercing pain in the middle of my chest.

But that could have been anything, from unbearable sadness, to the beginnings of a massive heart attack. Oddly, neither possibility worried me much. It was as if all this was happening to somebody else, not me.

Maybe Dennis was right; maybe I was only a mere spectator of my own life.

Thinking of Dennis gave me an opening.

"So," I said, "What happened to Dennis?"

Greg glanced at me.

"Nothing," He said evenly. Then he added, "He wasn't that drunk."

Ha, I knew it! Dennis the psychologist had been playing a part all along!

But my sense of triumph was short-lived. After all, _I_ knew that he'd been playing a part, but Greg didn't. To him, Dennis was a friend in need. Just because he had put him in a taxi didn't mean he didn't care.

"You were right," he said after a brief pause. "About Dennis, I mean." he added reluctantly, "He was putting on an act and I fell for it. Talk about being clueless, huh?" he added with a mirthless chuckle.

Before I could make a comment, he continued.

"'_Emotional Blackmail'_" he recited, "Nice phrase, Grissom." He said, glancing at me. "You made it sound like he's been manipulating my feelings-"

"He has." I retorted.

He held my gaze for a moment and then he looked away.

"I guess," he conceded, "I never saw it that way," he added thoughtfully. "To me, he was simply being Dennis."

"You mean, he was being obnoxious." I muttered.

He chuckled.

"Yeah, I guess that would be the right word."

His light response irritated me.

"Doesn't it bother you that this guy interfered with your relationships?"

"No." he said. "Look," he added when he noticed that I wasn't convinced, "The truth is, I was glad that he interfered."

"I don't believe that."

He snorted softly.

"_I_ didn't believe it either," he said, "But I've been sitting here, thinking about it, and I've discovered some things about myself, Grissom." he said quietly, "You see, all these years I depended on Dennis to get me out of trouble. Every time a relationship of mine went wrong, Dennis was there, providing me with an easy way out."

He glanced at me, "He really had a knack for intervening at the right moment." He said, "Sometimes I was in the middle of a fight and he would call, asking for help. He would be drunk or sick, or in some kind of trouble -it didn't matter; I was always glad that he called. Anything was better than facing an angry boyfriend." He added ruefully. "Maybe that's why my friends hate his guts." He added, as if the idea had just occurred to him.

As Warrick would have said, 'Gee, ya think?'

Greg's generous nature was his worst enemy sometimes. Dennis had probably engineered the fights with those guys, yet Greg never suspected, and he'd never believe it if I told him.

Or would he?

I was wondering whether to tell him, when he spoke again.

"He did it again today," He said, "Dennis knew we were having a fight, so he pretended to be completely helpless. He was giving me a chance to get away and I was only too glad to take it."

"But you didn't get away." I pointed out. "You even took my car keys to make sure you were coming back."

He looked at me.

"Yeah." He said after a moment. "It was a message to Dennis, I guess; a way of telling him I wouldn't stay with him this time. When he saw me walking to your car, he knew what it meant. He was pissed." he added, "We had a little argument, I got him a taxi-"

I had the feeling that it had been more than a 'little argument' but didn't say anything.

"-and now I feel guilty." He finished.

"Why?" I frowned.

"Because..." he hesitated, "Because he needs me more than I need him." He said at last. "And I feel kinda sorry for him."

I didn't believe 'sorry' was the right word.

"I asked you if you still loved him."

Greg was surprised by my words but didn't say anything.

"A week ago, remember?" I waited until he nodded almost imperceptibly, "You never really answered." I added.

I hadn't pointed this out before because I had the feeling that I was better off not knowing. But in my job I'd always championed truth above all else, and it was about time I did the same in my private life too.

It also seemed the right moment to do it, too; I still felt as if I was merely watching this scene unfold in front of my eyes. I was sure that nothing he said would hurt me.

"Just tell me." I said.

He looked at me for a moment.

"I don't love him." He said at last.

Oh. Good.

My hopes went up-

"But sometimes it's easier to be with people we don't love, Grissom." He added.

- my hopes went down.

Greg smiled bitterly.

"Dennis used to say that falling in love sucked-"

Nice guy.

"I always thought he only said it to piss me off, but he was right; love sucks sometimes."

Ok, that was enough.

"I don't get it, Greg." I said impatiently, "If you don't love this guy, then why are you mopping about him?"

"You think this is about Dennis?" he asked incredulously. "It's not, Grissom. This is about you."

I looked at him, hoping he would give me a clue on what was exactly bothering him, but he simply looked back.

"Greg..." I said, "I don't know what you want me to say-"

He snorted.

"Jeeze, Grissom; I don't _want_ you to say anything." He retorted, "If you have something to say, just say it."

Well, when he put it like that- I couldn't think of anything.

Up until then Greg had kept an air of calm detachment that practically mirrored my own; but now he shifted in his seat and turned his full attention to me.

"Just tell me this," he said, "The reason why you don't want to have lunch with Warrick and Sara… Is it because you can't stand the idea of seeing her with another man?"

I hadn't seen that one coming.

I gaped.

Greg looked away, seemingly embarrassed by his emotional outburst.

"I'm pathetic, I know," he muttered morosely. "It sucks, Grissom," He sighed dejectedly, "I never cared this much about anyone, and now I'm acting all needy and possessive… and jealous-" He added, shaking his head in disgust.

I was too surprised to say anything.

He glanced at me.

"I raked my brains these past days, you know?" he said, more quietly now, "I kept wondering why you couldn't face Sara. I kept coming up with all kinds of reasons, but this one actually made sense." he took a deep breath. "And now I have a hell of a dilemma." he said softly, "I mean, I love you, but I love Sara, too. She's my best friend, Grissom." He added more firmly, "She's had a crappy life and she deserves a break. If you love her, then you should tell her."

He looked expectantly at me.

I stalled.

"You assumed all this just because I didn't want to go to La Lumière?"

"And you still don't understand why this is a big deal, do you?" he asked impatiently, "Grissom, for years you were the love of Sara's life. How do you think Warrick feels about that? Hell, how do you think _I_ feel?"

"But I've been with you all this time." I protested.

Greg snorted skeptically.

"You're with me just because I was stubborn and didn't let go until you said yes." He retorted.

Uh, that was true.

"If Sara had tried a little longer or a little harder, you would be with her right now."

Not true. No, not true at all.

He turned earnestly to me.

"Did you ever do something like that, Grissom?" He asked, "Pursue someone despite being told time and time again that they didn't want you?"

That's what he had done; pursue me until I finally said yes.

He didn't wait for an answer.

"Did you practice in front of a mirror," he continued, "Planning what to say and how to say it, feeling a combination of joy and terror at the prospect of saying 'I love you' to someone for the first time?"

No, I'd never done anything like that.

The pain on my chest was spreading, spreading-

He spoke again, but in a softer tone.

"I guess you simply remained on the sidelines, watching as people you loved disappeared from your life. Maybe you didn't believe you could love them-" he said softly "Or maybe you didn't think you deserved to be loved. The fact remains- You never did anything." he paused, "You simply let life happen to you."

I took a deep breath and exhaled slowly –very slowly, to ease the pain in my chest, but also to avoid having to speak.

All I could think of was that Greg _knew _me.

I didn't know if I could deal with that.

"You need to find out what you want, Grissom." he said quietly, "And do something for a change."

"I just want life to be simple again." I blurted out.

I just wanted to be a spectator of my life again. It was so much easier…

But I was bluffing. I knew it, and I guess Greg knew it too, despite the look of apprehension on his face.

I mean, who was I kidding? I liked this life too and it was all because of him.

Now, when I slept alone, I needed to hold onto a pillow to lull myself into believing he was with me. Even at work, I felt better when he was there -up to his elbows in blood, or grime, or even shit- making comments, surprising me with bits of information, or simply keeping a respectful silence.

I couldn't even go home and close the door on the world anymore; too late did I realize that I was doomed the minute I let him inside my home, my last sanctuary. I had stopped being a spectator of my own life the minute I said yes to him;that's what the pain in my chest was all about. The prospect of losing what I had -or what I thought belonged to me- was daunting,

I opened my mouth but fortunately, I didn't say anything. Otherwise, I would have babbled all sort of romantic mush that I would have regretted later.

It took me a while, but I finally found something safer to say.

"Do you remember those gingerbread cookies we baked after New Year's Eve?"

He was understandably puzzled by my question.

"What?" he asked.

"Do you remember?" I insisted.

"Yeah." he nodded, not sure of what that had to do with anything. We had spent an afternoon making a mess in his kitchen; we'd used his grandmother's cookie cutters and some leftover dough from his Christmas party. Later, we'd gorged on dozens of misshapen cookies.

I still smiled at the memory.

"You insisted on baking _anatomically-correct_ gingerbread men." I said.

He chuckled.

"Ah, yes," he said, "I remember yours were especially well-hung."

"I'd never done anything like that in my life." I said. "I never told you this, but… I was glad," I said, "Glad that we were together, I mean. Happy," I added, as if it were a foreign word I'd never pronounced before.

"Ok," he said slowly.

"I love _you_." I said, and it sounded almost like an accusation. "I thought you knew that."

He nodded reluctantly.

"I did." He said quietly, "I do," he amended, "But I had my doubts." He looked at me. "Look," he said solemnly, "I love you, but there are other things that are just as important as love. Respect, for instance. We have to earn each other's respect, and for that we need to grow up, you and me. And Dennis, too," he added almost to himself. He looked at me, "I started today by not hiding behind Dennis anymore. Now it's your turn."

He looked expectantly at me, and to my own surprise, I started talking.

"I don't know what to say to her." I confessed.

He nodded.

"I mean," I continued, "I'm glad that she found Warrick, but I'm afraid that if I tell her, she'll think I'm just relieved, you know, as if Warrick had got her off my back. That's not how I feel."

"I know."

"I'm not proud of the way I handled my relationship with Sara." I admitted, "Telling her that I'm sorry' doesn't seem enough."

"Well… Sara's the most forgiving woman I've ever met, Grissom." He said, "She'll understand. If you feel guilty, then all you have to do is apologize."

Apologize? I'd never said yes to Sara, and I'd never said no either; I'd only kept her in a sort of limbo –just close enough to enjoy her friendship, but not so close that she could ever get to know me. To say that I owed her an apology was an understatement.

"She'll forgive anything, except your indifference, Grissom." He said.

He was right.

I took a deep breath and after a brief pause- I really needed a moment to gather the courage- I reached for my cell phone. I forced myself not to check on my messages; there was something more important I needed to do -dial Sara's number.

To my surprise, a male voice answered with a court, "What!"

"Warrick?" I frowned, "Is Sara there?" I paused while he angrily reminded me that it was her night off, "I know," I said apologetically –and a bit gleefully, too; I mean, how many times had he called just when I was starting to get cozy with Greg?

"Relax," I added to placate him, "I'm not going to ask her to come to the lab. I just need to talk to her." I waited until she answered, "Hey, Sara?" I said, as casually as I could, "Is that lunch invitation still standing?"

There was a brief moment of silence and then she answered – and I knew she was smiling widely when she did- "Yeah!"

I held the phone closer to my ear, "Thank you, Sara." I said gratefully, "We'll be there." I paused, "Oh, and Sara? It's your night off, so TURN OFF YOUR PHONE!"

I hung up and glanced at Greg. "Are you happy?" I glared.

"Yeah," he nodded casually, "I am." He looked closely at me, "Are you?"

I nodded reluctantly, and then I leant back on my seat and closed my eyes. The phone slipped from my fingers.

"Tired?" he asked.

Ha. Tired was not the word I had in mind. At least the pain in my chest had receded.

I shook my head almost imperceptibly.

Almost. He did notice.

"What?" he frowned.

"Nothing," I muttered, "I just..." I shook my head again, "I never thought I'd do something like this. Ever."

He was silent for a moment.

"You thought being with a guy would be easier than being with a woman." He said.

I looked up sharply.

He smiled faintly.

"You never thought a man would elicit deep feelings from you." He added.

He wasn't asking; he knew it was a fact.

I stared at him. I'd often wondered why I'd said yes to him of all people, and now there was my answer -and in just a few words. It was amazing. I looked at him with admiration, but with some discomfort, too. I mean, it stung to realize that while I was the older man in this relationship, he was wiser in many aspects.

If it was true that we both had to grow up, then I had a lot of catching up to do. As far as emotions went, I was really immature.

"So," he said after a moment, "This isn't what you expected, huh?"

I snorted. _That _was an understatement.

"I never thought I'd have to _talk_." I admitted morosely.

Greg smiled.

"You never thought you'd be celebrating Christmas and Valentine's Day-" he said, "You never thought you would be meeting your in-laws -"

"Or your ex-lovers," I added mournfully.

"Ah, poor baby." He commiserated. "You were conned, huh?"

He reached out and cupped my jaw, making me turn and look at him.

"If it's any comfort to you," he said, "I had my own preconceived ideas about you. But I'm glad to say you proved me wrong time and time again."

"Really?" I asked.

"Yeah… " he said, "For instance, I thought you'd be a clean freak who'd wash his hands immediately after handling my dick."

I snorted loudly.

"Yeah," he laughed, "I was sure you'd keep a stash of wet wipes close by." He said "Or that you would insist on bringing your own sheets." He rubbed my chin, "I thought you would insist on taking a shower immediately after having sex-"

"Well, I would if I didn't end up so exhausted." I said with a glare that didn't carry much conviction.

I covered his hand with mine and held it against my face for a moment. Then I kissed his palm.

"I had my own preconceived ideas about you too." I said, holding his hand in mine.

"Did you?"

"Yeah. I thought you'd be more respectful." I said, "I mean, you keep forgetting that I'm your boss."

He lost his smile and froze. He looked horrified.

"Grissom, I just-"

"And I like that." I interrupted.

"You do?"

"Yeah."

He smiled –the bashful smile that melts me time and time again. I looked away momentarily; I didn't want him to notice the effect it had on me. Instead, I tried to joke.

"_Love sucks_, Greg?"

He rolled his eyes.

"You're not gonnalet me forget I said that, are you?" he sighed.

"It sounds like the title for a punk love song." I teased, "In fact, it sounds like an old song from the seventies," I added, and I sang plaintively:

Love hurts, Love scars, Love wounds and mars-  
Love is like a cloud, it holds a lot of rain  
Love hurts, Ooo-oo Love hurts

He scoffed.

"Hey, if you're going to quote me a song, at least use one from this century."

He'd teased me about my age now and then and I had always laughed along with him, but that day it stung a little.

I didn't say anything. Instead, I idly examined his fingers. I liked them; they were long and graceful, and oh, so capable. They did magic in the lab -and everywhere else. I rubbed one of the little patches of scarred tissue that marred several of his fingers, souvenirs from his days as a lab technician, when despite every precaution he'd suffered burns while handling acids and other dangerous substances.

"You know," I said without looking up, "I'm really not the best thing that could happen to you."

His hand had lain motionless in mine, but now his fingers curled up around mine and squeezed.

"You're doing fine, Grissom." He said. "Really."

"I'm too settled on my ways, perhaps," I mused aloud, "I don't know if I'll ever be able to really open up-"

"I know," he interrupted, and then he added, with an insight that spooked me a little, "You don't have to tell me everything about yourself, Grissom. You don't have to open every door in your home for me-"

What a relief; that was exactly what I needed to hear.

We held hands for a while, too emotionally drained to do anything else.

"So, what do we do now?" he asked after a moment.

"We have to go home and change." I said distractedly.

"I'm talking about tomorrow, Grissom."

I frowned. I thought it was already settled.

"We'll have lunch with Warrick and Sara." I said, "We'll buy them a basket at the deli, and then..." I paused, and then I added as casually as I could. "And then I'll give you your Valentine's Day gift."

He perked up.

"You got me something? What is it?" he asked, glancing at the back seat, as if I had stashed the gift there. "I hope it's something leathery for my toy box-" he added, deliberately bating me.

I glared.

"I'm not getting you any kinky stuff."

"Aw, come on-"

"Hey, I have to think of my own health too, you know. I'm not putting myself at risk just so you can play sick games."

"My games aren't sick." he said with as much dignity as he could muster.

I rolled my eyes and was about to make a joke about Greg's toys, when I realized there was a discussion we hadn't finished.

"What about Dennis?"

"Dennis?" he frowned, as if he'd never heard the name before.

"Yeah, the psychologist." I said dryly. "Will you ever tell me why this guy is so important to you?"

"Jeeze, Grissom, I already explained-"

"No, you didn't."

He looked at me with some indecision.

"Well..." he started, "He's always been around-"

"That's what you always say." I interrupted.

Greg looked at me.

"Ok," he said slowly, "I'll tell you the whole story, then." He paused, "We met in College." He started.

"I already knew that."

"Well, you probably didn't know that he was the coolest guy on campus," he said, "He was good-looking, he was smart, he was at the top of his class -"

Translation: Greg had had a crush on him from the start.

Maybe I didn't want to hear this.

"I knew Dennis," he continued, "Even though he was a couple of years ahead and we didn't take any classes together. But then, he was hard to miss." He added, with a dreamy, far-away look in his eyes that irritated me.

Translation: Greg had had a _huge_ crush on him.

"One night he came to the chess club," Greg said, "We were playing against UCLA. I was the team's captain, and-"

"And he noticed you." I interrupted.

"No, not then," he said, smiling, "I was a _nerd_, Grissom."

"Weren't we all." I muttered.

"Oh, no; believe me, _I_ was the poster kid for Nerds in America." Greg insisted. He lowered his voice, "I was also a virgin." He said, "Apparently, the only virgin kid on campus," he added, smiling self-deprecatingly, "I mean, everyone was having fun but me. Nobody seemed interested, until Dennis came along."

Oh.

So, Dennis was the first.

Funny; I'd never even wondered or cared about Greg's first lover's identity. Now that I knew, I had yet another reason to hate Dennis.

"Boy, was I flattered." Greg muttered, almost to himself.

There was another piece to the Dennis puzzle. Dennis had saved Greg from freakhood, and for that, Greg would always be grateful. Little by little the full picture was coming together.

"There were times when he was the only person I could count on, you know?" Greg said, "I mean, apart from my family. Being with Dennis was like having a friend, a boyfriend and a therapist, all rolled up in one."

I'd already had a sample of Dennis' therapy techniques, so I didn't find those words reassuring. At the very least, he had made it seem like he was the one constant in Greg's life, while the very opposite was true.

"This guy cheated on you." I said. "Yet you act as if you owed him something."

"Well... I do, in a sense," He said, "I mean, we used to have a symbiotic relationship; we took what we needed from each other and it worked out fine, but we were acting irresponsibly, Grissom." He said. "We kept each other from growing up." He paused, "Then one day I found out that I wanted you, and that was that."

"He did nothing to stop you."

"He didn't think I was serious." He shrugged. "But I was, and I moved on. The problem is that _he_ didn't move on; he still expects me to be there." He looked up, "After all these years, I guess he needs a little time to get used to it. What do you think?"

What did _I_ think? He had to be kidding.

I firmly believed that the best way to get rid off Dennis was to apply the 'band aid technique,' and to rip him off Greg's life fast and mercilessly.

But I couldn't forbid him to see his friend. That would have been childish. And I didn't have it in me to be cruel to anyone either, no matter how tempting. Breaking off with Greg had to be a painful experience but having to do it cold turkey constituted cruel and unusual punishment.

Besides, I didn't want to give Dennis any excuses to continue acting like a victim.

I smiled to myself.

"Well..." I paused, as if I was really thinking it over, "He's your friend and he needs you," I said magnanimously, "As long as he knows you're not going back, then anything you do is fine."

Greg stared at me.

"Thanks." He said cautiously. He had not expected me to cave in so easily.

"You're welcome," I said.

I should have left it at that, but I overdid it.

"We could take him to a basketball game, now and then." I offered, "It will cheer him up, don't you think?"

I was willing to pay for those tickets. I'd enjoy being nice to Dennis…

It would drive him nuts.

Unfortunately, Greg saw right through me.

"You're evil." He muttered, shaking his head in disapproval.

"I'm not evil." I protested. "I'm just..." I shrugged, "Possessive."

He did a double take.

"Possessive?"

"Yeah."

"Oh." He frowned. "You too?"

"Yeah," I said, sheepishly.

He thought about this for a moment and then he smiled faintly, "Ok."

I couldn't believe it; he was actually pleased.

What a relief.

"Possessive." He repeated as I turned on the engine. "I like the sound of that."

* * *

TBC 

Thank you for reviewing!

OMG, will Valentine's Day ever come?

Yep. I promise I'll finish this story before Christmas.

Next: just a little epilogue…


	14. V Day: La Lumiere d'amour

DILEMMA

St. Valentine's Day. (Finally)

Thanks so much for reading and reviewing. Dilemma ends here, but I hope there'll be a sequel somewhere down the line...

Spoiler: A line from "Nesting Dolls": Sara says, (referring to Grissom) 'I choose emotionally unavailable men..."

So, will Sara give a blessing to Greg & Grissom's relationship?

* * *

February 14 arrived at last and Greg and I greeted the holiday covered in mud.

No, we were not playing one of Greg's sex games; we were working. We had spent half the night looking for evidence in the sewage system of an old apartment building. We were up to our elbows in mud and worse, but we had managed to recover parts of a human body.

Residents had complained separately about a peculiar smell permeating the building and about a neighbor's sudden disappearance, but nobody had made a connection. Fortunately, Brass had been assigned to investigate the missing person's report. He had worked at CSI long enough to ID the smell. Somewhere in the building, there was a body decomposing.

Once a cadaver dog pinpointed the area involved, Brass gave us a call.

After hours of hard work we'd been able to recover pieces of flesh and bone, but we kept looking; I was hoping to find something more definitive, like a piece of personal jewelry, or teeth.

And then Greg announced that he'd found what looked like a dirty glove.

"A _grayish _glove?" I asked.

"How did you know?"

I turned just in time to see him picking up the glove out of the muck.

"That's a human hand." I said.

He winced and almost dropped it. And then he smiled.

"Fingerprints." He said.

"Exactly." I said, "I think we can leave, now."

"Great!" he said, and then he lowered his voice, "I still got to pick up my suit from the cleaners, Grissom."

"Relax," I said, "There's time."

Still, taking our evidence back to the lab and processing it took us almost all morning, and by the time we left it was almost eleven. We went our separate ways, but Greg phoned me almost immediately with an offer to pick me up.

"Thanks, but no, thanks." I replied, "I don't want to be late."

"Oh, come on-"

"I know you; just combing your hair will take you an hour."

"No, it won't."

"Yes, it will."

"No, it -"

"Greg?" I interrupted, "I'll meet you there, ok?" And then, just to reassure him, I added, "I promise." and hung up.

* * *

I arrived at La Lumière about an hour before we were bound to meet.

It's not that I am obsessed with punctuality –despite what Greg might say- I just wanted to spend some time by myself.

A busy parking lot was not the best place to meditate, however, and I was easily distracted by the number of people who came and went. I watched men and women get off their cars and walk hand in hand to the restaurant.

Back when I was single, I'd watch couples and wonder what made those people stay together. Was it mutual derision or fear of being alone? Respect? Admiration? Love? And if it was love, how long before it went sour?

These people looked happy, but I couldn't help wondering whether they were simply acting a part in honor of the day.

I shook my head. Being in love hadn't changed me much. I was still skeptical.

I was also getting restless. Maybe getting there so early had been a bad idea. Idly, I picked up my phone to check for messages, but put it down when I remembered that I'd asked our receptionist to take them for me. (The poor woman's jaw had dropped when I'd told her I had a lunch date and didn't want any interruptions. Usually, it was the other way around, with me begging her to get me out of boring lunches and meetings).

But now I wished someone would call; I needed the diversion. I turned on the radio and fiddled with the dial, trying to find a radio station that wasn't playing sappy love songs. I was losing my patience, when someone tapped on the passenger's window.

Greg.

"You're early," he said, smiling widely. He looked pleased. And _relieved_.

I opened the door, but he didn't immediately get in. First he gave me a once-over look.

"You look hot," he announced.

I scoffed in self-deprecation.

"Hey, I'm serious," he insisted. "You look good in that suit."

He'd chosen that suit. He couldn't afford it, so he'd talked me into buying it –or, more precisely, kept pestering me until I did.

I try not to give in to his demands too often, but this time I was glad I did.

Now it was my turn to gaze at him. He'd gone for Italian chic. He was wearing his Armani suit and a white silk shirt open at the neck; and best of all, he was also wearing my favorite accessory: a five O'clock shadow.

"_You _look good," I said wistfully.

It was an understatement, but he seemed genuinely flattered. That's one of the things that mystifies me about Greg: compliments surprise him, as if he is completely unaware of his physical appeal.

It makes me wonder what he sees when he looks in the mirror.

He slid closer and kissed me on the cheek.

"Hey," he muttered, "Thanks for the books."

I'd given him his Valentine's Day gift earlier that morning, but I hadn't stayed around to see him open it. Two books on his favorite musicians didn't compare to the sex toys he had asked for, but if he was disappointed, he didn't show it.

"I got them at the Barnes & Noble we visited about a year ago."

"The one you swore never to enter again?" he smirked.

"The cashier recognized me, by the way. He told me there were some Tyra Banks calendars on sale. 'In case your _son_ still wants one, sir,' he said."

"Really?" he glanced around, "Did you get me a calendar?"

"No."

He gaped.

"You couldn't spend a couple of bucks on a calendar for me?" he asked incredulously, "What's the good of having a sugar daddy if he's not gonna spend a little money on his sugar boy?"

I gaped at being called a sugar daddy.

Greg kept a straight face for as long as he could, but soon he started shaking with laughter.

"Oh, man," he said when he was finally able to speak. "Just relax, will you? I was kidding!"

"I know that," I replied mechanically, but I was not so sure.

Greg chuckled and after a moment he glanced outside.

"So," he said after a moment, "Are you ready for lunch?"

Hell, no.

"Yeah," I said, trying to muster some enthusiasm.

"Never thought this day would ever come, huh?"

"Tell me about it," I mumbled, almost to myself.

"What?"

"Nothing," I said, and I started fidgeting with the radio dial again.

Greg stared at me.

"Wait a minute," he said slowly, "You look like a guy who's about to face a firing squad."

"That's how it feels." I said, looking up.

He narrowed his eyes.

"You're not having second thoughts about this, are you?"

"Would you let me go if I told you I am?" I asked hopefully.

"No." He glared.

Damn.

"I could just drive away, you know." I said.

"Sure," he retorted, "If you're willing to face my wrath."

I scoffed.

"Greg," I said, "We both know that I can easily turn that wrath into purrs."

He shook his head.

"Charm won't get you out of this, _Gil_."

Funny; just as I call him 'Sanders' whenever I'm displeased about something, so does he use 'Gil' to let me know when I'm walking a fine line.

But he was in a forgiving mood. He rubbed the back of my neck.

"I know it's hard." He commiserated. "You're not only going to face Sara; you're also going to come out officially to a male coworker, and-"

I frowned.

"I hadn't seen it that way," I said, "Now I've got something else to worry about; thanks a lot." I glared.

"Well, if it's any comfort to you, this is making _me_ nervous, too." he admitted. "I mean, Warrick's got to know by now, but he's never broached the subject. I know he's a good guy, but-" he shrugged, "Who knows? He might not be thrilled at having a gay colleague."

For the first time it occurred to me that he needed my support as much as I needed his.

"Warrick _is_ a good guy," I said to reassure him. But he was right; one never knew. I looked at him, "I wasn't going to chicken out, Greg." I said, "I was just-"

"-fantasizing about leaving things the way they are." He finished.

"Exactly."

"Well… Things could change for the better, Griss."

They could also get damaged beyond repair.

"It'll be all right," He said confidently, and then he reached and cupped my jaw, "You'll see," he said, "_Baby_."

Oh, that damn word.

"Ah, the _coup de grâce_," I mumbled in defeat.

"Hey," he said, "If you're gonna quote French to me, at least buy me a dictionary."

"Fine," I said, "Let's go to Barnes & Noble after lunch and I'll get you one."

"Will you get me a calendar too?"

"Only if you eat all your vegetables," I replied playfully.

"Deal." He said. "And I promise not to check out your butt while we're in there."

"Why not?" I protested, "Let's put on a show for that guy; let's kiss on aisle three."

He chuckled.

"You know," he said a moment later, "I never had this much fun in a relationship. Everything we do is-" he hesitated, "Unscripted." He said, "That's the best term I can come out with. We don't do the club thing or the cocktail hour thing, which is what everybody else does. Instead, we go to Loving Bear Donuts or to a book store-"

I frowned.

In other words, we were cheap lovers.

But hearing him talk made me think of the things that he'd given up when he started a relationship with me. I'd never asked if he missed them, and he probably would not tell me if he did. But even if he didn't miss going to a bar or to a club, it didn't mean that _we_ couldn't go, one of these days.

An idea started taking form in my head. His birthday was coming up, after all.

We could start by having drinks somewhere discreet, and then we could eat a five-course dinner at some fancy place; then we could go dancing-

Or maybe not. But two out of three were good enough. Drinks and dinner.

That would surprise him.

"They're here." he said, interrupting my plans.

Warrick and Sara arrived in her car –fifteen minutes before we were supposed to meet.

But then, Sara is as obsessed about punctuality as I am.

* * *

The four of us got out of our cars seemingly at the same time, and both couples walked towards the center of the parking lot until we were only a few feet apart.

It was eerie; from a distance, people might have wondered what our intentions were: We stood frozen in our places, looking like we were either going to break into hugs or draw guns and shoot.

We were staring at one another as if we hadn't met in months. Maybe it was the clothes –we were all dressed up, something that didn't happen often.

Warrick broke the silence.

"Hey, Griss," he said pleasantly, "Greg?"

"Hey, Warrick." Greg smiled back, "Sara?"

"Hey!" Sara greeted, and her voice sounded a little too high.

The three of them glanced at me, but I was tongue-tied from the start.

I smiled sheepishly at Sara and she smiled back at me. She understood.

Warrick intervened again.

"Hey, people, let's go inside, ok," and he gently steered Sara towards the entrance.

We were technically on the clock, so we skipped the cocktails; the Maitre d' immediately led us into the dining area.

I liked La Lumière. Groups of tables were set apart by narrow planters filled with green foliage, which created an illusion of privacy. This sensation was enhanced by the fact that most of the light came from the centerpieces -tall crystal vases containing white candles floating on water. It was the restaurant's theme, of course. La Lumière means 'the light'.

"I like this place," Sara said, eyeing the greenery.

"I like the smells." Greg added, sniffing at the tray that a waiter was carrying.

The maitre d' led us to our table, and he ceremoniously pulled a chair for Sara.

Uh, Oh.

Greg, Warrick and me froze in our places.

Predictably, she refused at first.

"That's ok," she said, "You don't ha -" but she paused in mid-word when she realized we were looking at her. For a couple of seconds she stood there, with a silent 'a' frozen on her lips. And then, surprisingly, the 'a' turned into a warm smile, and she slid into her seat. "Thank you," she said.

When the Maitre d' turned to us, Greg reached for a chair and joked, "That's ok, we'll manage on our own."

The man bowed and left, and once he was out of earshot, Greg taunted Sara, "For a minute I thought you were going to sock him."

"I would have," Sara replied cheerfully, "But he was only doing his job." She glanced at the three of us, "Take a seat, guys."

Easier said than done. Warrick and me reached for the chair opposite Sara at the same time, and then we quickly withdrew our hands and reached for the other chair.

"Take it, Griss." He said, motioning me to take the first seat.

"You take it," I said. It was more appropriate for Warrick to sit there, anyway.

"No, you take it."

"You take it," I repeated.

"You take it," he insisted.

"I'll take it," Greg said, solving the problem.

But once we sat, we faced another problem: what to talk about. We glanced at one another.

Warrick cleared his throat.

"So…" he said.

"So..." Greg said.

"So…" Sara added.

_I_ still had nothing to say.

"You know-" Greg said, and the three of us looked at him. "I think-" he glanced at me, "I think I left my lights on." He said, and to my dismay he abruptly rose from his seat and left.

That was weird.

I glanced at Sara and then at Warrick, then at Sara again. I was fishing about for something safe to say, when Warrick cleared his throat again.

"Hum," he started, and then, carefully avoiding Sara's gaze, he said, "I -hum- think I forgot my wallet in the car."

"Your wallet?" Sara frowned.

"Yes. I'll be right back." He said, rising from his seat.

Sara looked up in alarm.

"Warrick, we can use my credit card -" she offered.

"No, babe," he said gently, "It's ok, I'm sure I left it in the car."

And to _her_ dismay, he left too.

She gazed at his retreating back until he was out of sight, and then she glanced at me.

"Do you think he really forgot his wallet?" she asked.

"No."

"Me, neither."

"And Greg didn't leave his lights on." I said.

"No."

She sighed.

"They want us to talk."

"Yes." I said.

"Well," she smiled faintly, "It is sort of the point of this lunch, after all."

"Yes." I said, "It is."

She shook her head.

"They could have concocted better excuses, don't you think?"

"I agree."

"I mean, who leaves the lights on these days?"

"Nobody does." I said.

"The cowards," she added indignantly, but there was a little smile tugging at a corner of her mouth, and after a moment we smiled at each other.

"They must be hovering nearby, watching our every move." She said.

"Do you see them?" I asked, since she was facing the entrance.

"No. But this place is so gloomy, they could be anywhere." She said, and she discreetly glanced around.

I took the chance to study her.

She was wearing a black silk pantsuit with a gauzy, see-through top. The color was a bit severe, but the colorful embroidery around the neck and around the wrists made it lively. It suited her.

She looked pretty and healthy.

Now that she loved someone else, I found it easier to notice these things.

She was nervous. She couldn't keep her hands still –she picked up a glass and then put it back, only to pick it up again. After a moment, she touched the surface of the crystal vase and tentatively pushed it, but she panicked when it tilted. She left it alone, but she was restless and was reaching for the glass again, when a waiter's arrival interrupted her. He handed us the menus, and then he offered her a single red rose.

"For you, mademoiselle." He said gently.

Sara took it before she realized what it was.

"I don't want it," She said, but the waiter merely smiled and left. He probably didn't even register her words.

Sara looked at the rose and then she put it on the table.

"I hate it when they do this." She said morosely, "They think seeing a poor rose dying a slow death is romantic, but it's not. It's such a waste-"

I let her talk. Whenever she acted like this, the best anybody could do was to sit back and keep his mouth shut.

At least, that's what I did.

But what about Warrick? Somehow I didn't think he'd simply let her talk; in my mind, I saw him arguing and objecting to her pessimistic points of view -getting involved, in other words.

Sara glanced at me after a moment.

"I'm ranting." She said. "Sorry."

"It's ok."

"No," she said, "It's not." She shook her head almost imperceptibly, "Warrick says I take these things too seriously."

I picked up the rose and handed it to her.

"Take it, Sara." I said, "Share its beauty" I added, "Enjoy its scent. For the rose, indifference would be the worst fate of all."

She gave me a look but she took it.

"I guess you're right." She said after a moment. "Poor rose." She said, delicately touching a petal.

Ah, Sara. To me, she was so much like a rose -thorny, yet vulnerable. She was a strong woman, but I'd always been afraid that a single word from me could shatter her.

Ironically, it was my silence that hurt her the most.

It was time for me to say something, but I still didn't know what. And then, just as I had finally found something to say, she spoke too.

"I should have told you-"

"You should have told me-" She said.

We both smiled, despite ourselves. We were so alike-

"I should have told you," I repeated, "Except that -" I hesitated.

"-Except that it was too personal?" she finished for me.

I nodded.

She looked down.

"I understand," she said. "It's got to be difficult for any man to tell a woman he can't love her because he's gay."

But being gay had had nothing to do with it. After all, I had ignored my true nature for so long that it had not been an issue at the time.

I looked at her, wondering how to explain that while there were many reasons why I could not love her the way she wanted me to, there was only one reason for me not to tell her: I was afraid that she'd leave, once she realized that there could be nothing between us.

And I didn't want to lose her.

It was a selfish thing to do, but there's something in me that makes me hold on to people I care about -my coworkers.

Over the years, I've refused to let them go; I've refused to lend them to other labs, and I've refused to fire them, even when they deserved to be. I've been protective of them... But I've also kept them at arm's length.

And all because I can't bear to say goodbye.

"I wish I'd known sooner, though." Sara said softly. She looked up, "Did you think I would not understand?"

"Sara, I just didn't want to talk about it –with anyone." I looked at her, "But I should have known that you would understand. You've always been generous with me."

She smiled faintly. She looked down again.

Her silence bothered me.

"Were you-" I said, just to keep the conversation going, "Were you surprised?"

She paused for a second.

"No." She said.

I frowned.

"What do you mean, no?"

Her smile widened.

"It's not that you're obvious about it, Grissom." she said quickly, "It's just that… You've always been so secretive. There had to be a reason, and suddenly there it was. Things made sense at last.

"I was disappointed," she admitted, "But no, I was not that surprised. Even at the beginning, when Greg first told me he had a crush on you, I didn't question his assumption that you might be gay. What I thought was, 'Poor Greg. He doesn't know what he's getting into.'"

She softly scoffed, "Imagine my surprise when I found out that he'daccomplished in just a few days what I couldn't in five years. I wouldn't have believed it if I hadn't seen it with my own eyes."

"What do you mean?"

"I saw you two by accident one afternoon," she explained, "You were coming out of a new Barnes & Noble store that I wanted to check out. _You_ were walking fast, as if trying to get away from Greg. I thought you were having a fight, untilyou got in the car.There, instead of arguing, you burst into laughs."

She smiled at the memory, "It was amazing; I mean, you were laughing so hard. And I thought, 'He's never laughed like that in my presence. _I've never made him this happy_.'"

"That's not fair, Sara." I said, "I never _let_ _you_ make me happy. And _I_ never made you laugh, either. It works both ways." I paused, "I have never been a source of happiness in your life, and that's a fact." I added regretfully.

"Oh, Grissom," she sighed, "That's not true. Really, it isn't. You've been a friend; you've taught me a lot." She looked down, "I just wanted more than you could give."

"Sara-"

"It works both ways, like you said." she interrupted, "_I_ couldn't give you what you wanted, either. I mean, after seeing you and Greg together, my first thought was, 'What does Greg have that I don't?'" she smiled sheepishly, "And the answer was so obvious, that I laughed. That's when I told Greg to go for it."

She smiled, "I was finally able to let go, and it was easier than I thought. Maybe because it was Greg?" she said as if she had just come to a sudden realization. "I mean, if you had fallen in love with some leggy blonde-" She narrowed her eyes, "I don't think I would have found it so easy to forgive you."

Her words held a veiled threat, but there was a glint of humor in her eyes. I realized she was being nice to me; nicer than I deserved.

"Sara..." I sighed, "You wasted all those years on me."

"I didn't waste them." She said kindly, "Grissom, I don't regret anything. I always needed someone-" she hesitated, "I needed _to love _somebody," she confessed, "I chose you-"

"But I was 'emotionally unavailable'." I said, quoting her own assessment of me. "You could have done better."

"Maybe," she admitted, "I don't know. So many things could have happened, who knows? Other men would have taken advantage of me, but you didn't-" she smiled, "I appreciate that." She paused for a moment, "I'd like to think that things worked out nicely in the end, Grissom."

I nodded.

"Warrick is a good guy-"

"Oh, yes." She said, "He is."

"Do you..." I said, since she didn't seem willing to say more. "Do you have cute names for each other?"

"No." she glared, "Thank God." Then she relented and made an admission, "He calls me 'babe', sometimes."

I was hoping she would say something about their relationship. Not that I wanted to intrude; I just- I just wanted to know if she was happy. I needed to hear her say it.

But she turned the conversation back to me.

"Greg seems happy," she said, "You must be doing something right."

"I can't take credit for that." I said, shaking my head, "Greg's just-" I shrugged, "He's a happy person. Nothing beats him down."

"Yeah, but you love him-"

I stared at her in silence. She frowned.

"You do love him, don't you?"

Suddenly, it occurred to me that Sara was the one person to whom I could talk freely.

"It's hard to put a name to my feelings." I said thoughtfully, "I mean, love is the easiest word, but sometimes it's the hardest. I just-" I paused and she looked curiously at me. I looked down, "The thing is… to me, love is like wearing someone else's clothes." I said, "I know they're either too big or too small for me, but everyone says I ought to try them on, so I do-" I paused.

"And?" she asked softly.

"And I try to make them fit-"

I stopped and, to my surprise, Sara continued.

"And you try to convince yourself that you look good in them-"

I looked at her.

"But all along, I know that I look ridiculous in them." I finished.

We looked at each other. We had just voiced a common fear.

"You feel like that, too?" I asked.

She nodded, and then she looked at me as if she wanted to say something but didn't know how.

"Have you ever…" she started.

"Yes?" I prodded.

"Have you ever felt that you don't deserve to be happy?"

I hesitated for just a second.

"Every day." I admitted.

"Me, too." she confessed. She shook her head, "I hate to feel like that," she muttered. "I hate feeling so insecure."

"We're just not used to this, Sara." I commiserated.

"But what if it's true?" she insisted, "What if we don't deserve this?"

Oh, damn. I'd been piling my own insecurities on top of Sara's, instead of giving her some reassurance, which was what she really needed from me.

I had to fix this.

"Sara." I said, "I don't know anyone who deserves love more than you do. Or anyone who is more capable of giving it."

She seemed surprised by my response.

"I'm serious," I said. "You're amazing. I mean, neither one of us had a happy childhood, but you rose above all that." Her eyes widened and I faltered a little when I realized what I'd just said.

I'd never talked about my childhood and I was not about to start. "I know I've criticized you in the past for letting your feelings intrude," I said, "But the truth is, I admire you. You care about others; you feel compassion for every living creature. That's amazing."

She was speechless.

"Hey," I said, "Look at it this way. Do you think Warrick's a smart guy?"

"Uh, huh," she nodded.

"He is." I nodded, "He fell in love with you, after all."

She smiled.

"You deserve to be loved, Sara."

"So do you." she said softly.

Now it was my turn to be surprised.

"You do." she insisted. She took a deep breath, "You and me…" she said, "We're damaged people, Grissom. We both need someone to take us by the hand and help us forget the past. A happy person, like Greg. Or someone like Warrick, who doesn't let me brood over things I can't change anyway. They're giving us a chance."

She looked expectantly at me, but maybe I didn't respond as quickly as she wanted, because she reached out and grabbed my hand. "Let's take it." She said earnestly, "Let's put on those clothes and make them fit."

"That was just a stupid metaphor, Sara." I mumbled.

"I'm serious." She insisted, "Promise me you'll try."

"Ok," I said.

"Promise." She insisted.

"I promise."

And then she held my hand so tightly that I winced.

"And I'm warning you, Grissom." she said, very slowly, "Greg's my best friend and I'm very protective of him. If you screw up, I'll make you pay."

I smiled gratefully.

"Thank you, Sara." I said, putting my free hand on top of hers, "Thank you for everything."

Warrick and Greg chose that moment to return.

"Oh, for God's sake, woman," Warrick said, pretending disgust, "I can't I leave you alone for one minute?"

"Hey, what's with the hands?" Greg added sternly, glancing at Sara and then at me until we let go of each other.

"Sorry," Sara said, pretending contrition. She had to bit her lip to keep from laughing.

"I didn't know you were into swinging, Grissom." Greg said.

"Grissom?" Sara repeated, "You call him _Grissom_?"

"Yeah," Greg shrugged as he sat, "Why?"

"You're not at the lab!" she protested, "You're in a nice restaurant; you should call him by his first name!"

"Why?" Greg repeated.

Sara turned to me.

"You don't let him call you Gil in private?"

"Well, I just-" I started.

"Hey, maybe it's for the best, babe," Warrick said, "Otherwise Greg might come into the lab and call him 'honeybunch'"

Sara burst into laughs.

"Or love bug," Warrick added merrily.

"I don't mind," I said, looking at Sara, "Greg knows I don't like my name-" I didn't want her to think that I was keeping Greg at arm's length or that he didn't have my complete trust.

Greg, on the other hand, seemed unconcerned by their ribbing. He was smiling good-naturedly, letting them enjoy their little joke.

He didn't speak until he saw Warrick pick up a glass to take a sip of water.

"Actually," he said quietly, "I call him 'God,' sometimes."

Warrick choked, Sara's eyes bulged, and I froze.

"Yeah," Greg continued, "I get a little vocal sometimes, and-"

"Greg," I said, giving him a warning look that meant he better not dare.

It was one look he knew well.

"What?" he asked innocently.

"You know what," I glared.

"Come on," he scoffed, "You didn't think I was going to reenact one of those 'Oh-God-Grissom' moans, did you?"

Oh, shit.

Greg smiled widely and sat back to enjoy the result of his naughty words: I froze again, and poor Warrick's coughing returned, forcing Sara to slap him on the back.

The waiter reappeared then, bringing a bottle of champagne. He studiously ignored our little spectacle and ceremoniously presented the bottle for our approval; when he realized that neither Warrick nor me were up to the task, he presented it to Greg.

Greg rose to the occasion, acting like a wine connoisseur and making all sort of appreciative comments.

"Excellent." He said, motioning the waiter to pour.

Meanwhile, Sara was still concerned about Warrick, who winced every time she smacked his back.

"I'm fine, I'm fine now, babe," He managed to say, catching her hand before she slapped his back again, "Thanks. Oh, man," he said, looking at me, "Greg's evil, isn't he?"

"You have no idea," I mumbled.

"You must be whipped, Grissom." Warrick said, shaking his head compassionately.

"Not yet," I said quietly, "So far, I've resisted playing some of his games."

This time it was Greg who almost choked, and then he laughed.

Warrick lifted Sara's hand and kissed it, thanking her for smacking his back so earnestly. Sara smiled at him and after a moment she looked at me. After a moment, I smiled back.

I'd never be as demonstrative as Warrick, and she'd never be as irreverent as Greg. Sara was right; incredibly, we had ended up with the right guys.

The waiter poured the champagne.

"All right!" Greg said enthusiastically

The four of us lifted our glasses.

"So…" We said it at the same time.

"For love?" Warrick suggested.

"And friendship," I finished, and the four glasses touched.

THE END…

Coming soon: A fluffy Christmas story.

Thank you for reviewing!


	15. Epilogue

Epilogue

Spoiler: Who Shot Sherlock. This episode was aired in January, but for this story, I'm assuming that Greg passed his proficiency test after Valentine's Day.

I changed the ending on May14.06

* * *

I was catching up with some reports, when Nick and Greg dropped by. Greg was smiling widely –actually, he hadn't stopped smiling since I told him he'd passed his proficiency test.

He had officially become our newest CSI.

"Grissom," Nick said, "We're taking Greg to celebrate his promotion. Wanna come along?"

"I can't," I said, eyeing a pile of files, "I got some reports to review."

"You sure?" Greg asked.

I nodded. Actually, I could have come along, but I wanted to give him some space. He deserved some time alone with his friends.

Greg turned to Nick.

"I'll see you guys there, then." He said. He waited until Nick was gone to approach my desk.

"So, " I said, "How does it feel to be a CSI?" I asked.

"It feels weird," he said. "Being the center of attention, I mean. Everyone seems happy for me-" he said tentatively.

"They _are_ happy for you. You did well."

"I did, right?" he asked, "That's what I keep telling myself-"

"What do you mean?"

"Well," he shrugged slightly, "I was just wondering, you know -" he paused.

I took off my glasses and put them on my desk.

"You're wondering whether our relationship had anything to do with this promotion." I said.

He nodded.

I cleared my throat.

"Greg, you've worked hard." I said firmly, "You earned this."

He nodded, but I had the impression that this was not what he wanted to hear.

Ok. I tried again.

"Look," I said, "When you failed the test five months ago, I decided to give you another chance because I knew you could pull it off..." I said, and then I smiled, "But also because I couldn't stand to see you disappointed."

He smiled again.

"Thanks, baby." He said.

"But from now on," I said, "Everything will depend on you."

His smile faded and he assumed a more solemn stance.

"Yes, sir," he said.

"You'll have to take a firearms course," I said, "If you don't qualify you won't be able to work with us-"

"I know." He nodded.

"As a CSI you'll have more responsibilities…" I said and then I gave him the little speech I give to new colleagues. He listened attentively. When I was finished, I smiled. "I'm glad you pulled it off."

"Thanks," he smiled. "You owe me a private celebration, by the way."

I should have known. This guy _lives_ for parties.

"Of course," I said simply. I'd have to think of something –fast.

He leant on my desk.

"You sure you can't come with us?"

"I'm sure." I said.

"Ok." He said. "See ya later, then." He said, and he waved at me.

He was already on his way out, when I called out.

"Just take it easy, ok?" I said.

I guess I used a sterner tone that I intended, because he stopped in mid-step. His foot hovered in the air for a moment and then, instead of moving forward, it moved backwards, and then he retraced his steps until he was leaning on my desk again.

"And what does that mean?" He asked, using his own stern tone.

It's very effective, and for a moment I hesitated... But in the end I said what was in my mind.

"It means that you'd better not drink more than you can handle." I said simply.

His eyebrows rose. He seemed genuinely surprised.

"Excuse me?" he asked, "Have you ever seen me drunk?"

I gave him a look.

"What?" he frowned.

"Greg, you were drunk when you came to my place a couple of years ago. Don't you remember that?"

He actually paused to think.

"Oh." He said at last, "Yeah... You're right."

"Uh, huh," I nodded.

He smirked.

"So... are you afraid that if I drink too much I'll get overly affectionate with my coworkers? With Nick, perhaps?"

It was my turn to frown.

"I was concerned about your health, Greg. Now you've given me something else to worry about. Thanks a lot," I glared.

"Actually..." he hesitated. "I... hum...have a confession to make."

Every time he uses that phrase, my first thought is, _'oh, crap; what now?_'.

"Ok," I said slowly.

"Well... the thing is... I wasn't drunk that night."

"You weren't?"

"No. I was only pretending."

"Oh, really?" I asked skeptically. "And why would you do that?"

"Well... Because I wanted to tell you about my feelings, and, well... I didn't know what your reaction was gonna be," he said, "I assumed you would be more tolerant if you thought I was drunk. I mean, you wouldn't punch a drunk guy for making a pass at you, would ya?"

"I'd never punch anyone," I said, "Period."

"Yeah, I figured that, but... It was just a little precaution; a chance to save face, so to speak. If you rejected me, then I could simply blame everything on alcohol."

I narrowed my eyes.

"You learned that trick from Dennis, didn't you?"

"I guess," he smiled sheepishly.

"So..." I said, "You were not drunk."

"No. I only had half a beer."

"But your mouth tasted like you had drunk all kinds of crap."

"That's because I drank the bottoms of my friends' drinks. It was disgusting," he added as an afterthought.

I was silent for a brief moment.

"So," I said at last, "When you leant on me as if you couldn't stand on your feet -"

"I was faking." He admitted cheerfully.

"And when I practically had to carry you into my living room, you were-"

"Faking."

"So... when you 'accidentally' touched my butt-"

He faltered a little.

"Well, I didn't know if I'd ever get another chance to get that close to you, so -"

"So you felt me up on purpose." I finished. I was silent for a moment. "I can't believe this."

"Hey, I'm not proud of what I did -"

"What I can't believe is that you didn't take advantage of the whole situation," I replied, "That night I would've- I mean, after you kissed me... I would've followed you anywhere."

"Oh, yeah," he smiled knowingly, "I noticed."

"Then... why didn't you do anything?"

"Well... It wasn't the way I wanted things to be," he said slowly, "I mean, you would have done anything I wanted, but then the next day you would have freaked out. It would have been awkward -" his voice trailed off.

"Oh. So... you did the honorable thing?"

"Well..." he frowned, as if the idea had never occurred to him, "I guess."

"Wow." I said, "You're a good guy, Greg."

"Nah," he dismissed, "I'm-"

"Seriously." I interrupted, "You're a decent guy."

He groaned.

"Grissom, decent guys are _boring_," he said, "_And_ lame-"

"You're a _noble_ guy." I insisted, enjoying his discomfort.

"Hey, I can be bad-

Ha. Like I was going to believe that now.

"No, really," He insisted, "Dirty, too." He said and then he wiggled an eyebrow, "I can be bad _and_ dirty-"

"Sure," I said, smiling indulgently at him. "Well, _bad_ boy," I said, picking up my glasses, "You have a party to go to, so, have fun."

"But I-" he started.

I put on my glasses and picked my pen again -a sign that our personal conversation was over.

"Fine." He said at last, "I'm leaving." He walked away, but just as he was about to reach the door, he spoke, "Oh, and don't worry; drinking will be the last thing in my mind, tonight." He said casually. "I'll be too busy _looking_. The guys are taking me to a strip club."

I looked up sharply, but he was already gone.

A strip club?

I gaped and stared at the empty doorway; I stared at it for so long that when my cell phone rang I actually blinked in confusion.

I quickly got myself together and answered.

"Grissom," I said.

"BWAAAAH, HA, HA!" It was Greg, and he was laughing his ass off. "I WAS KIDDING! YOU CAN MOVE NOW!"

I looked up, half-expecting to see him in the hallway, spying on me.

But he wasn't there.

"Where are you?" I frowned.

"I'm in my car, buckling up." He said patiently. "But I know you." He said gleefully, "You froze after my parting shot, didn't you? You were busy picturing me, with a bunch of girls –am I right, Mr. _Jealous_ CSI?" he challenged. But before I answered, he added smugly, "Now, am I or am I not a bad boy?"

I was fuming.

"Greg-"

"Relax!" he said happily, "The guys offered, but I said no. They are taking me to a tasteful pub for some steak and beer!"

That was good to know, but I wasn't so easily appeased.

"Greg Sanders, you're gonna pay for this!"

"All right!" he replied cheerfully, "I'll do anything you ask me to!" he lowered his voice, "I'll be your slave for a day and satisfy your most outrageous fantasies -"

"You do that every day," I retorted. "No. I think I'll find something else for you to do; something fitting to the crime." I paused, "Oh, I know; I'll have you clean my pets' cages for a week."

"Oh, no," he groaned, "Come on, Grissom -"

"It'll suit you, _dirty_ boy."

"But _baby_-"

Oh, no, I thought. Not that damn word again. As soon as he uttered it, my resolve began to crumble.

Just like it always did.

Part of me tried to stick to my original resolution, but another immediately decided that a week might be a little too much.

"All right," I said reluctantly. "Five days."

"Oh, come on," He protested. "What about two days?"

"Five days, Greg," I said as firmly as I could.

"Three days!" he countered.

"Four days." I saidbefore I could catch myself. "And that's it, baby." I said, and then I hung upbefore he talked me into forgetting the whole thing.

Almost immediately, the phone rang. It was Greg again.

"What, now?" I asked.

"Did you just call me baby?" he asked.

"I did not." I said almost indignantly.

"Yes, you did."

I frowned and tried to remember... and realized that yeah, I'd called him baby.

"Yes." I said, "I did."

I wondered if that made him happy or disgusted.

To my relief, he started chuckling.

"Aww, that's so sweet-"

"So, you don't mind that I stole your word?"

"Nah. I'm ecstatic. I'm so happy that I'm going to clean your cages for a full week." He said, "However -" And he paused ominously.

"Yes?"

"Just word of caution," He said solemnly, "It'sa powerful word, Gil Grissom. Use it wisely."

Andwe bothlaughed.

* * *

The End 


End file.
